


Eyes Like Sorrow

by badluckvixen13 (alteringviews)



Series: 1 Million for Black Hermione [33]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Black Hermione Granger, Evil Dumbledore, F/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:29:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 59,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11195724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alteringviews/pseuds/badluckvixen13
Summary: In 1991, after three Hogwarts students uncovered the return of Voldemort, the group known as the Order of the Phoenix went to the IWA on behalf of Britain to ask for aid. The IWA agreed to roll-out one program as a tether to Britain, rolling it out in Britain as they had done in other countries that had once refused to join but eventually did so. They created a small training program, a task force of IWA operatives that would train students and adults alike in IWA procedures, magic, and ability. The tests were difficult, but well worth it when one of those three students managed to get accepted.Now, with Voldemort defeated, secrets have been revealed and the British Wizarding World is on the way to cleaning up the mess it's made of itself.If only it were that easy.





	1. The End Of An Era

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shifting Sands, Swirling Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054761) by [flitterflutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flitterflutterfly/pseuds/flitterflutterfly). 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could he have been so blind? 
> 
> How could Albus be so heartless?
> 
> How was Hermione so calm?

“You lied to me,” Harry gasped, staring into the eternity beyond the soil beneath his feet.

There’s a great rage and panic threatening to overtake him, drag him down into the depths of sorrow or perhaps bloodlust. His body ached still, falling apart as he stood there and contemplated the horrible truth. 

The man that he’d trusted above all else, his refuge of the past years was truly…

Truly--

A villain. 

Perhaps not Voldemort in scale, but he may as well have set a barrage of  _ crucio _ curses rummaging through his insides. 

How could Albus have done this to him?

Albus found that he had nothing to say to that. How had they reached here? How had his perfect plan, years of undercover work and manipulation fall apart? How is it that the martyr he’d chosen stood before him though Dumbledore himself had been disarmed by this same student. 

“Harry, do not--”

He glared at Albus Dumbledore, raising his wand dangerously. How he was managing to hold that wand given what he’d gone through in the last twenty-four hours was amazing. The blood was still staining his clothing from wounds that wouldn’t close. The only thing they could do was to get the antidote to him and keep him on Blood Replenishing Potions for now. He looked about ready to collapse right then. His arms shaking even as it held it out, green eyes bright with tears and fury. There was something sparking nearby that barely caught his attention.

It seemed that no matter how furious Harry was, he didn’t have full control of himself. Perhaps a lingering side effect of having a piece of Voldemort attached to his soul? If he played his hand right, he may have a salvageable tragedy on his hands. 

_ Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived driven mad by Death Eaters? _ Yes, Rita Skeeter would spin it perfectly to have all of Wizarding Britain demanding the safety and security of a new leader, a leader that would lead them to the IWA as he had led the Order to the IWA.

“Stay away from me, Professor,” he said shakily. “I-I am going with Sirius for the rest of the summer and I... When school starts again, I don’t want to talk to you for quite some time.”

Albus stared at the young man, breaking to pieces before him. Something told him that he should feel guilty, ashamed maybe, but it wasn’t there. He couldn’t make himself feel it. There was just the dominant urge rising up to make Harry bend to his will. After all, there was no mistaking what Harry was just like his mother with those bright green eyes. He couldn't afford to lose control of Harry right now. Not to incorrigible Sirius Black in any case. Things had been going so well until  _ she _ opened her mouth to the Aurors, to Harry--

_ Curse _ that muggleborn menace!

_ Hermione Granger,  _  the name felt like poison, burning in his mind and the taste of tar in his mouth. 

She’d pay even if he managed to salvage the damage done.

“Harry,” he tried gently. “Surely you can see how rash this is.”

“I  _ don’t  _ care,” Harry gritted out, sparks dripping onto the ground as it shook, mixing with the blood that still dripped. “Y-You’ve lied to me all this time! About Voldemort, about the stone, the Dursleys, about Sirius--about everything! Was anything you said true?!  _ Anything? _ ”

Albus swallowed looking at Harry’s wand before opening his mouth. There was no telling what spell was on the tip of his tongue, no telling how wrong it would go. It could kill them both--

Harry’s wand went flying out of his hand and into Hermione’s hand who stood several paces away wearing her International Wizarding Alliance robes and looking every bit the junior operative that she was. Albus almost wanted to glare at her, but kept his composure. It was her fault after all. Hermione had seemed like a good pawn--Muggleborn, clearly submissive, struggling to make things come together, to make friends. She should have died when Dumbledore let that troll loose in first year. Should have died on that quest to get the Sorcerer’s stone. He'd made the mistake of underestimating her intellect. Then, there was the Time-Turner that truly should have been the end of her as Time magic was the most addicting and corruptive next to Dark magic.

She'd bested that as well, seeming to not even have aged with her time traveling. Perhaps, somewhere in her family line, there had been a natural time turner. There was no telling with muggleborns unless you tested them really. He should have known that she would be trouble when Remus transformed last year. He should have killed her. Werewolves went after powerful wizards first by instinct to try and convert them--but she'd lived and she'd kept Harry alive.

_ Professor Dumbledore, I have a few questions about all of this… _

His eyes narrowed just a bit remembering that almost beguiling voice, innocent as she held Harry against her, trying to bind his wounds as close to closed as could be managed with Nagini’s venom in him.  He should have told her no then and perhaps he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this mess. 

“Harry, it isn’t in anyone’s best interest to point a wand at the Headmaster,” she said gently coming towards him as he shook. She took him by the shoulders, wrapping an arm around him. “I have orders to escort you to Sirius. Are you ready?”

Harry nodded quickly, clinging to her robes. Albus opened his mouth, but she turned a fierce glare at him, the magical discharge that came with it echoed strongly rushing towards him like a hissing Sphinx. 

She turned her kind gaze back to the shaking Harry. Given the events that had led to Sirius’s escape and Voldemort’s defeat, he should have expected Harry to be shaken up, but he hadn’t ever considered that perhaps Harry would have learned more than he first thought about Dumbledore. He kept his mouth shut as they left the small village towards a viable floo point and vanished in a blast of green flames. 

He grit his teeth. This just wouldn’t do… to be undone by one small blip in his plan--especially not Hermione Granger. 

“Professor,” Ron started coming towards him. “Where did Harry go?”

He regarded Ron for a moment and smiled kindly, “He only just left with Miss Granger.”

He flushed and turned, “Thank you Professor.”

“What is wrong, dear boy? Were you meant to go with Harry for the rest of the summer?”

*

In the 10th century, when wizards began to realize that they weren’t alone in the world and didn't have to assert dominance over each other, they created the International Wizarding Alliance. Among the many benefits of the Alliance, the International Quidditch League and World Cup were created. It began as a game to bring countries of wizards together in friendly rivalry and continued on to this day to remind all wizards of the beauty of peace.

Around the same time, the wizarding populace began to notice a divide in character. There were people who thrived on taking care of other and those that thrived on obeying. Rarely, were there those who straddled the line between the two. In order to facilitate a higher quality of living for wizards and a better chance for wizards to have long, healthy relationships, the IWA began to institute dynamic testing. At an age determined by each country, each witch and wizard would be tested an officially declared a Dom, a Sub, or a Switch.

In the 15th century, Britain and several other wizarding countries began the persecution of Switches. They broke over a hundred wands, killed thousands of witches and wizards, and very nearly exposed the wizarding world to muggles. 

As such, the countries involved in what is now called the Switch Purge were removed from the IWA. All Switches who had survived were take in as refugees and though they were protected, the horrors had left such a mark on them that eventually they seemed to have died out leaving the population forever changed. 

In the 18th century, after several centuries of reforms and treaties, the Britain and the original collection of countries, including Albania, were offered a chance to return to the IWA, but because of various disagreements with how the IWA was run, how Britain would be represented, and the stipulations that came with membership, they denied it and all of its protection. 

They of course lived to regret that in the 19th century with the rise of Gellert Grindelwald and again in the 20th century with the first rise of Tom Riddle. After the first fall of Voldemort in 1981, Britain begged for sanctuary from the IWA to avoid the return of another dark wizard like him, for though they had their Auror’s, the most powerful secrets of the wizarding world were in countries firmly in the IWA. The IWA offered them the same demands as before and they refused. 

In 1991, after three Hogwarts students uncovered the return of Voldemort, the group known as the Order of the Phoenix went to the IWA on behalf of Britain to ask for aid. The IWA agreed to roll-out one program as a tether to Britain, rolling it out in Britain as they had done in other countries that had once refused to join but eventually did so. They created a small training program, a task force of IWA operatives that would train students and adults alike in IWA procedures, magic, and ability. The tests were difficult, but well worth it when one of those three students managed to get accepted. 

When the Order asked if there was more they could do, the IWA said that until the British Ministry was prepared to agree to IWA terms, there was nothing they could do. 

Albus knew then that a great tragedy would have to befall Britain in order to get them to do it, something so horrible that no one could deny that Britain needed help. In the mourning and sobbing, he could rally all of Britain behind him and get rid of the current Minister of Magic with little to no campaigning. It had been a perfect plan.

If only he hadn't included Hermione in that plan. In her mind, no matter what her dynamic turned out to be, that was his greatest mistake.

Harry wailed, falling out of the fireplace and she kneeled to pull him close and keep him grounded. Thinking that she was a pawn and being willing to sacrifice Harry had been his greatest mistakes.

Clinging to Hermione, sobbing into her pristine robes, Harry wasn’t in a position to register their surroundings.  The scent of fresh cream, butter, and cinnamon filled her senses. It seemed that Sirius was making cinnamon rolls for breakfast, the gooey kind that Harry had first tasted with his godfather. The small French cottage felt like a home even with Harry’s hysterical wailing.

“Sunshine,” she whispered, squeezing him to her, stilling him. “We're here.”

Here in a house owned by the Potter family. Another place that Harry had not known about. It, among so many other things, had been hidden from him, taken from him from years thanks to Albus. Sirius appeared only seconds after the first distressed wail. He scooped Harry off the ground. Harry let Hermione go in favor of the strong, clean scent of Sirius. 

Hermione had read about the scent that Harry was clinging to, the feeling. Sirius was a Dom, one that Harry recognized as familiar and safe. After a lifetime of being denied that presence, Harry’s instincts clung to it every time he was near.

“It's okay, Harry,” Sirius soothed, rocking him. “I'm here. You’re safe.” 

Harry just whimpered, clinging to him, silent and shaky. 

“I’ve sent word to the Dursleys,” Sirius said,looking at Hermione with a wry smile. “I suppose you’ll be escorting him there to pick up his things too?”

She chuckled, “More to keep you from murdering them.”

“How about to the World Cup?”

She gave him a flat look, “I don't think you'll need an escort for that.”

Sirius chuckled and nodded, stroking Harry’s hair. 

“S-Sirius?”

“There we are,” he said gently. “Just breath, Harry. Okay?”

He shuddered, letting Sirius rock him as Hermione went about taking his trunk to his room. She wasn’t sure how long it was before Harry stopped sobbing, but he remained curled up in Sirius’s arms as he did. 

With the War over, Voldemort dead and Harry more traumatized than any near fourteen year old should have been, it was hard to celebrate anything. Despite that, Hermione smiled seeing Sirius and Harry together. It had burned her to no end when she asked Albus that questions about Sirius’s incarceration, read up on Wizarding Dynamic Law and so much more. The network of lies that Albus had weaved around Harry and Sirius, the paths that his lies created all leading to somewhere far darker than Voldemort’s reign.

Harry had been denied love for fourteen years because of Albus’ greed and arrogance. He's been prepped as the ultimate sacrifice for the Wizarding world and a catapult to Albus’s political career. Given the chance, Albus could have set off another Great Wizarding War or worse. It was hard to be sure who was the true dark lord anymore. 

She felt her communication mirror wiggle in her pocket and reached in to answer the call as Sirius pointed her silently towards the private balcony. 

Harry heard nothing besides the sound of Sirius’s heart beating beneath his ear as he sat wrapped up in a thick blanket, surrounded by the clean smell of Sirius. He thought it was interesting that he could faintly remember his scent like a lost memory from the time of his parents. It was a far nicer half-memory than flashes of green light.

“Harry?” Sirius ventured. “Are you alright?”

Harry sniffled and shook his head silently. 

“Well, I made cinnamon rolls and Hermione is making dinner if you’re hungry.”

Sirius looked up as Hermione came back with two bowls of soup and a cinnamon roll on a plate. Harry managed to wiggle his hands free to eat. At least he hadn't lost his appetite. Hermione had a feeling that the comfort of something sweet and his godfather’s presence had more to do with it than anything. Regardless, he finished the bowl and the entire cinnamon roll without prodding before falling asleep.

“So Hermione,” Sirius started as a bit of color started to return to Harry’s face. “Anything to share with the class?”

She grinned, “Nothing much. Though I highly suggest arranging Harry some counseling outside of love, World Cup, and being alive.”

Sirius chuckled and nodded. He was pretty sure that he could do that. He took the next three weeks to get Harry settled and checked up in between going to the IWA headquarters in Paris to finish up the interrogations, the trial, and get himself absolved of all crimes. Harry was given his first calming potion the day Britain reinstated Sirius’s lordship, his fortune, and his rightful title as executor of the Potter will and of course Harry’s guardian.

They walked out of the British Ministry of Magic together and to Diagon Alley for ice cream. 

Later that evening, Albus received the letter and the news one right after another. They turned to ash in his hands as he fumed in his office. It seemed that everything He planned was crumbling to dust around him, but he breathed in remembering Ron. 

Though he wasn’t of a pureblood family of the caliber as the Malfoys, he was still a pureblood and that carried a good deal of weight in the wizarding world. In him, Albus saw an opportunity: Ron wanted Hermione.

Hermione was a powerful witch, that much was clear, but she was muggle-born and without a wizarding name backing her she wouldn’t get terribly far. Not to mention she was a submissive, a spirited one for sure, but a submissive nonetheless. Come September, she would be required to be tested and officially declared and from there Albus had a chance to recoup his losses not only from the war, but from her very clever puzzling out of his schemes. 

He'd marry her off to the highest bidder in a pretty gold and red bow to match her brown skin and get back on track to his end goal.

Perhaps he would marry her off to a Malfoy or some equally cruel family as punishment for sticking her little brown nose where it didn’t belong.

Perhaps he’d marry her off to Snape. 

He chuckled at the thought. She and Lily had more than enough in common after all. With the war over, he would need to keep Severus as close as possible. He'd lost him to Voldemort once and regained him through the prospect of revenge and keeping Harry, Lily’s only son, alive.

*

“Viktor!” She called, but he’d already taken to the sky, kicking off hard and sending himself rocketing into the sky, tumbling it seemed. She sighed and sat out on the porch, to watch him disappear into the clouds above her home and try and think about how she would phrase this when he finally came back down. 

She breathed in and looked at the paperwork in her hands. She’d known it since he was a child, known it with every fiber of her being. It was more than just a familiar look at him. She rolled up the scroll and swallowed, waiting for Viktor come back. 

He doesn’t return on his own, but slumped, exhausted on his grandfather’s broom that carried him back to her gently. She opened the door and let it float up to his bedroom, lowering gently to deposit him in bed. 

She glanced to the World Cup Trophy sitting on the mantle and sighed, turning back to get things done. She pulled up Sergei’s paperwork and began to fill it out along with the letter to the owner of the team. By the time Viktor woke up, he was a shaking, shuddering mess beneath his long, inky hair. 

“B-baba…”

She shushed him, beckoning him to come sit on the couch with by the fire. She called for a house elf to bring food and a blanket before wrapping him up and setting a plate of food in his hand. He was so… tense despite flying until he was exhausted and the deep sleep he’d fallen into. He picked at his plate, twitching a bit and she felt her stomach turn in guilt. 

She shouldn’t have told him to get on a broom whenever he couldn't sit still, when his skin felt too tight. It had been to help since Viktor had been so averse to appearing weak. It had served him well, thrusting him into more fame than his parents could have hoped for.

But at what cost?


	2. Oddities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Albus' plans blow up in his face once again. 
> 
> You just can't depend on those Muggle-borns to fall in line-- especially not ones named Hermione Granger.

Hermione heard Severus’s door swing shut behind her, but she really wasn’t sure what to think about the conversation she’d just exited. Had Severus  _ thanked _ her for calling Albus out on his scheming in front of Harry? Maybe thanked her for her part to play in the end of the War? Maybe even thanked her for taking care of Harry the way she did? At the end, he’d nodded at her and told her that he expected her to do exceptionally well in his N.E.W.T. level Potions class that year since she was graduating this year. 

That made her smile. Yes, she was graduating. That time-turning for the past two years had made a mess of her age she knew, but now she was old enough by wizarding standards to be tested for her dynamic. It made her a little nervous given what she knew about the laws surrounding it and she didn’t have a Sirius in the wizarding world to look after her.

No, she had Minerva though and perhaps Severus if she asked nicely. Despite the obvious disdain he’d shown her and her house, she’d gleaned a bit of the respect he held for her. He may call her an insufferable know-it-all, but he always answered her questions and let her watch him in the lab. He’d thrown out the potential of taking on an apprentice, but that meant nothing if she ended up presenting as a submissive. 

McGonagall would look after her as much as she could, but as the Assistant Headmaster and the Head of the Gryffindor House her hands were tied. As the headmaster, Dumbledore had final say over all students who didn’t have proper guardianship so long as they were in school. She’d already seen the malice that Dumbledore could hold and the lengths he was willing to go to get his way. Having her future in that man’s hands was worse than simply being on her own.Whatever happened, she just hoped that she wouldn’t have to change her plans and retire to the muggle world. 

The new British Ministry had a strange idea about how to go about rebuilding the wizarding world after the amount of destruction Voldemort and his followers had caused. Marriage Laws, dynamic registration acts and all sorts of things that were supposed to show Britain’s efforts towards progression. There were things that hadn’t changed in Britain like a submissive’s rights to own property and take up the Head of their family, but for the rest of the world, things were definitely headed towards the path of equality.

She could have scoffed. It would take more than near destruction to get Britain to let go of their prejudices and get with the International program.

“Miss Granger,” Minerva called. Hermione turned at the woman’s warm voice.

Wearing dark robes and her usual witch’s hat, McGonagall seemed to glide towards her with more purpose than usual. 

_ Harry, _ she thought, thinking back to the dark haired boy. Sirius promised that he would let Harry return to school when he was ready, but the semester had already begun and the green-eyed wizard had not arrived.

“I hear you have been doing marvelous work for the Ministry’s Reconstruction.”

Hermione chuckled. Apparently, it wasn’t just Severus who’d been keeping an eye on her performance with the IWA. 

“It has been quite the summer.”

“And you have spoken with Mr. Potter have you not?”

“I have. He and Sirius went to the World Cup and have moved into Sirius’s family home in London.”

Minerva nodded, letting out a sigh of relief. Harry, Ron, and Hermione seemed to be giving her a near heart attack every year since they’d arrived, but  _ Harry _ with his name and infamy had always given her more to worry about.  Having him at Hogwarts was keeping him safe from Voldemort but exposing him to an entirely different kind of danger all together. With Voldemort dead, perhaps she’d be able to breathe easy for a full year.

“I am glad Mr. Potter has found a home. He will return to school soon I hope?”

She nodded, “Yes, I imagine so.”

Minerva nodded gratefully. She had been told by Albus that Harry would be returning to term a little later as his guardian Sirius, felt it best to make sure he was stable enough before sending him back to school. 

Hermione walked into the room with the rest of the fifteen year olds who had not been tested yet. They were mostly muggle-borns who looked incredibly nervous, some whom she recognized, some not. The Ministry representative smiled and waved at her with a kind smile before coming up to her to shake her hand. 

“Hello,” she said with a smile. “They sent you here of all people?”

“They had to make sure it was done right,” Merlyn, an Unspeakable whom she'd spent a great deal of time with at the Ministry, told her with a grin. 

Once the doors of the large old classroom closed, he began to explain what would happen. Albus sat at the table along with the rest of the House heads watching with a stiff anticipations as they were all called up to be tested. 

Per the Ministry, every muggleborn was under the Muggleborn scholarship to attend school. The Ministry gave the scholarship as a lump sum for the seven years of school in accordance with how many muggleborn students each school had. It almost behooved schools to accept more Muggleborns to make sure that the financial woes of running a wizarding school were taken care of readily. Hermione was probably causing all sorts of issues by graduating so early as Hogwarts would have to issue the funds meant to cover her time at school for the years she wouldn’t be attending to her directly. She'd knocked a little over three years off her time at Hogwarts. It was going to be a hefty sum. The same was true of orphaned wizarding children like Harry. Though Harry had quite the inheritance, his legal guardian, Sirius, had been termed an ineffective guardian, placing Harry firmly under the orphan clause of wizarding school. It also placed him firmly under Dumbledore’s control. If Sirius had been acquitted years ago, as he should have been, he would have been the legal executor of the Potter will by magical law. It would have been a claim to guardianship that the Ministry and any legal reproaches couldn’t have fought against. It had been something Dumbledore had known from the start. 

Through his status in the wizarding world, he could have gotten Sirius a fair trial then, but he hadn’t. From what she read of wizarding laws regarding inheritance, if Harry had died before he came of age or before Sirius was released Dumbledore would have stood to inherit the Potter fortune as Harry’s only magical guardian. She didn't know what was so damn important in the Potter family vault for him to do that to a child, but it disgusted her nonetheless.

When a wizard turned fifteen, they were tested for their dynamic, and from then on they also had a dynamic guardian. The default was the controller of the house or the Headmaster when no one else was eligible, like muggle parents. These guardians were allowed to make decisions regarding anyone’s courting decisions. Harry had been tested as a part of the litany of tests he'd been subjected to over the summer to ascertain his mental and physical health. He knew what he was even though it couldn’t go on official record because of his age.

She hadn’t quite gotten through the book she had on courting rituals, but she had the feeling that she would need someone else to teach her the finesse. She was at a very large disadvantage without any real, direct wizarding ties backing her. Sure, she was the brains of the Golden Trio. She was pretty sure that the connection to Harry would be enough to at least open a door, but to really enact any good would take rubbing elbows, something she'd need to learn how to do. What to wear, what to say--a crash course in wizarding etiquette if at all possible.

“Hermione Granger,” Minerva called making her think back to freshman year. The Hat of Revelation was akin to the Sorting Hat. Whenever each school went through a litany of tests, an officiator from the Ministry, usually an Unspeakable, administered the test. 

_ For the love of Merlin, _ McGonagall pleaded, holding her breath. It would do no good to do so now since the results would be revealed to her later, but that didn’t mean she couldn't start praying now. To be honest, she’d been praying since they first found Hermione asleep on the path to the Philosopher’s Stone.

Hermione stepped up and took a seat as the old hat was set on her head for just a few moments before it was removed and put on a piece of paper that rolled into itself immediately and tied itself up with a length of cord. Merlyn handed it into her. Hermione stood and walked towards the line of students who had their results. They would have to bring it with them when they went to speak to their House Heads after dinner. She looked for her time slot, wrote it down and left the hall. When she arrived at the Great Hall, she waved to Angelique, took a seat, tucked the scroll in her bag, and opened her book on House Establishment and Cultivating Wealth. Lunch would be starting soon and it was better to already have a seat when it did than to try and fight her way to one with her book in hand.

Per her research about seventy-five percent of muggleborns manifested as a submissive. Some thought it was because of the lack of magical purity making them weaker, but in all honesty, it was more likely that the natural magic that governed these things was simply trying to even out the numbers that got the Wizarding world in so much trouble: too many dominants without enough submissives to temper them. For the love of Merlin, submissives were in some ways much stronger than dominants and being a dominant was no reason to thrust your hips out at people or act superior. She wondered how many people thought that to be the case in England.

_ Most, _ her mind quipped, thinking to the current state of submissive laws.

She shook her head at the folly and made a few more notes on her parchment. The scent of food pulled her from the eighth chapter, and she dutifully began to fill up a plate with anything that was easy to eat and not messy. She picked up her fork and began to eat, ignoring the sound of Gryffindors filling the tables and Ron’s awful table manners.

When she finished the chapter, she looked up, closed the book over her bookmark, and paused. There, across the table was Ron was stuffing his face as usual. She sighed and shook her head. It was times like this, watching Ron roll his food around in his mouth, that she really missed Harry. She lifted a fork of green beans to her mouth and turned her eyes to Neville who looked just as horrified as she had in first year watching Ron eat.

“Where have you been anyway?” Ron asked, gesturing with a chicken leg. 

She gave him an unimpressed look, “Minding my own business, of course.”

Ron flushed and grumbled, going back to eating, “You know that isn’t very attractive. No one’s going to want you like that.”

She smiled and reached for an apple. How many times had she heard that in the last few months? Between the IWA and students at Hogwarts who knew she was muggleborn but too insecure to just fess up and say they actually liked her. She shined it on her robes and placed it in her bag before going back to eating.

“I suppose no one’s worthy of me then. Pity.”

Ron’s jaw dropped, but she ignored him as she kept eating. Ron lost all interest in a conversation with her after that, choosing to turn and speak with Seamus about his latest near catastrophic charms accident. She didn’t bother to tell Seamus that if he’d just follow instructions properly, or even read the instructions, he’d still have eyebrows. Instead, she finished lunch and left with Angelique to class. 

By the end of classes, she was incredibly thankful for it. Severus was as demanding and strict as usual and on a particularly mean streak to the upper-level Ravenclaws in the class. She had about ten chapters to read in order to be ready for her exam, a report to go over for the IWA, a check-in with her supervisor, and the meeting with McGonagall to prepare for. 

“You look like you’ve been through the ringer, ‘Mione.” George commented as she took a seat. 

“It’s been a trying day.”

Fred snorted, “No books to eat by? Must’ve been.”

Hermione shook her head. Her head was spinning. All she wanted to do now was eat and then retreat to the library for the next few hours.

“Attention students--” 

The Great Hall doors opened, cutting off Dumbledore’s speech. The entire hall turned to see who was coming. 

Hermione’s entire face light up. 

“ _ Harry. _ ”

They were all looking at him. His stomach churned uncomfortably, his scars itched even more than the one of his forehead. Gulping breaths down, he lifted his chin, breathed deep and looked across the tables to find someone,  _ anyone _ that wasn’t staring at him like that. 

_ Where’s Hermione? _ He thought desperately, getting nervous. The world swam and he felt a little dizzy with panic. He closed his eyes.

_ Three counts in, three counts out, Harry,  _  he heard Sirius’ voice coaxing him. 

He'd told Sirius that he was ready to go back, ready to finish out his time at Hogwarts with at least one year of his life not falling apart, but he wasn't sure if he'd merely said it as to not worry the man now that he was here and the whole hall was looking at him.

_ One. _

_ Two. _

_ Three. _

He held the breath for a moment and tightened his grip on the bag as the world continued to swim behind his eyelids.

_ Footsteps, _ his mind registered absently as his eyes began to burn. He opened them and saw her rushing towards him. Her wild curly hair had grown longer, floating in the windstream her running form created. 

He smiled gratefully as she reached him and wrapped him close in a fierce hug. He dropped his bag and returned gratefully, practically melting in her arms. It feels like second year after waking up after months of being petrified, except it was Harry’s turn to be welcomed back with open arms and cheer.

“It’s good to see you Harry,” she said into his ear. He smiled hopelessly. 

“You too, ‘Mione.”

A cheer went up around the Hall as Ron came over. He shoved Hermione aside to pull Harry close. 

“Shame we didn’t see each other at the game. Hell of a show, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said with a deep breath. “Made me want to play Quidditch again.”

Hermione beamed and they shared a secret nod over Ron’s shoulder. Ron didn’t know about Harry’s terror of flying, how hard it had been to coax Harry into using his wand again, how hard it had been to see him so terrified of flying when he used to find such joy in it. While she wasn’t sure that he’d actually gotten on a broom yet she was convinced that he meant to do his best to do so and reclaim as much joy and solace as he could.

Ron probably wouldn’t ever understand what Harry was saying and while it was partially because he wasn’t there for the summer, it was also because he wasn’t interested in being there.They’d owled him, but as usual Ron hadn’t written back.

“That’s great. Come on, let’s get you fed, yeah?”

Harry nodded happily and let them guide him to where they were sitting. Neville smiled across the table at him as they all sat down together, all in a row just like before with Harry in the middle and Ron and Hermione on either side of him. She glanced up at the clock and began to pack up. 

“I have to meet with Professor McGonagall,” she said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “I got tested and there are things we have to talk about, but I’ll be back in the common room long before curfew. We’ll catch up, okay?”

Harry nodded with a shaky smile as she grinned at him.

“Welcome back, Harry.”

*

Minerva looked up as Hermione came in with a nervous smile. She spared a glance to Albus to alert Hermione of his presence. Hermione looked at him and took a seat. 

“Forgive me, Professor McGonagall,” she said. “But I was under the impression that it would only be the two of us in this meeting about my future. May I ask what Professor Dumbledore is doing here?”

Minerva winced at her tone, “As you know, the Headmaster is the perfunctory guardian of all muggle-born students. He has voiced his wish to attend certain meetings to ascertain the state of students who were involved in the war efforts.”

_ So he could pick and choose which ones to keep in his clutches,  _ Hermione heard as Minerva kept a neutral expression on her face. 

Hermione pulled out her scroll and handed it over. 

“No, my dear, you have to open it,” she said. “No one else can open it before you do. If you have questions, I can of course explain anything you wish before we begin the Ministry required paperwork.”

Hermione looked down at the corded scroll and pulled the bow free before pulling it apart. There were charts about her psychic and magical make-up, ones she’d seen before from her preliminary testing with the IWA. From what she remembered, her scores were exceptionally high for a muggle born, and would be considered exceptionally high for even a pure-blood. 

_ Take that Draco… _

“Well, my magical aptitude scores are a 69 out of 72. Per the notes here, it’s possible that that may go up when I turn seventeen. They recommend that I get tested again at that time to be sure.”

Minerva’s eyes widened and she refuses to look at Albus who stiffened beside her. Albus was only at at 45, Voldemort had been a 50. She herself was at a 32.

_ Take that, you old windbag, _ McGonagall thought.

“I’m related to the Rasun Family in Egypt. And the Patils it seems, both of whom have been contacted. Not the Grangers it seemed, interesting. I've been invited to join the IWA League. I guess that's like wizarding Mensa.”

She read on murmuring to herself about the results. 

“I’m not sure of this last bit though,” she said, standing to set the paper on McGonagall’s desk. 

Her eyes sparkled as she watched the sparkle in Dumbledore’s eyes fizzle out into a hard and malicious glint.

“Well, Miss Granger, that bit tells you that you are a dominant.”

Hermione nodded and met Albus’s eyes, “I thought as much but it never hurts to be sure.”

Albus didn’t look away as Hermione looked at him plainly trying to place when exactly she’d lost her respect for him. 

In a flash, she heard Harry crying out in terror and agony, surrounded by Death Eaters, blasting at him, toying with him as the Dementors descended. He'd been bound up, bleeding, wounded. They’d been flinging him around and through the air, sending him flying and crashing for quite sometime, trying to pulverize him. 

He’d been so young, a child really, and terrified, barely holding on to his sanity. Naked and curling into himself as his body began to shut down from shock. Voldemort had wizened up from the last few times he’d encountered Harry. If he couldn’t kill him himself, he would get someone else to do it in the most surefire way. He’d ordered his Death Eaters to bleed Harry out rather than rely on magic which had been so ineffectual. Voldemort had ordered them to break his mind so even if he physically survived he’d never rise to fight again. 

With the Dementors around, they would have his soul as well and Harry could be stuffed later as an effigy when Voldemort took over the Wizarding and Muggle world. It was overkill to say the least, but a desperate man went to pretty desperate measures. A cruel man made sure to torture his victims before killing them. 

They had nearly succeeded, working to get him weak enough that body would die moments after his soul was removed. She remembered that the screaming had stopped for just a moment and was replaced by Harry’s breath choking in his chest and paws thundering against the ground. Sirius had rushed, a black shadow across the ground leading her through the forest to find Harry as quickly and as silently as possible. She remembered forcing her tired legs to keep pace, throwing hex after hex at anyone who stood in the way and looked remotely threatening. 

_ Stupify! _ \--a body dropped.

_ Petrificus Totalus! - _ A body froze and fell down into the dirt.

_ Expulso!- _ \- Trees broke apart in blue light, throwing bodies out of the way.

The creature had gotten to Harry, pulling a flickering green scrap of light into the air and out of him that roared and swirled above them like a dark mark’s rising. They didn’t retreat though, going back in to finish the job.

_ Expecto Patronum! _ She’d screamed. 

In practice it had never been that large. It had never taken shape, but there was no mistaking the great wing of the dragon coming out of her wand, rushing at the Dementors and pushing them back. Sirius had shifted back, snagging Harry’s wand from the ground to blast Death Eaters back and scoop Harry up as he came back to himself. Shuddering and screaming in terror still bleeding from wounds so numerous it was a miracle that he was still alive, he was alive, yet.

_ It’s okay Harry. I have you. I have you now. You’re safe, little Harry. _

The glowing blue dragon lit up the night and had scared the Death Eaters into fleeing for their lives. The Death Eaters had been prepared to apparate, but found that they couldn’t before Kingsely and so many Aurors came raining down. The anti-apparation jinx on the area had taken effect and they were all faced with fighting or apprehension. 

She remembered the moment that had made her blood go cold as she flung another curse at a Death Eater, a woman with a cackle. A moment of silence on the battlefield as she dove under a killing curse, she saw him there. 

Dumbledore, there in the trees, waiting, biding his time behind a thin shimmering wall. He hadn't moved to help or stop the madness. He’d been there the entire time behind an illusion curtain. 

The how and why she’d seen him when no one else seemed to wasn’t important.

Albus remembered the way their eyes met through his illusion. How she said his name and her eyes grew hot and angry. She’d raised her wand and cast an cancelling enchantment before turning back to the fight. 

Albus looked away from her as she turned her eyes back to McGonagall. 

“Well Miss Granger, this will make this conversation significantly different. Professor Dumbledore, if you could leave.”

He stood and left graciously it seemed and as the door closed, Minerva cast a warding and silence charm on the door before letting out a sigh. 

“By Merlin, Miss Granger, I cannot tell you how greatly I feared.”

She smiled, “I never did.”

She lifted a quill and began to fill out the paperwork McGonagall gave her. The woman, a dominant herself, answered her questions cheerfully, gave her some chocolate and sent her on her way. 

Harry, Ron, and a few other Gryffindor students are all engaged in watching a game of Exploding Snap when she arrived. She chuckled seeing the light in Harry’s eyes as he watched. He looked up and grinned. 

“‘Mione,” he said. “How’d it go?”

“As expected.”

She stretched, “Carry on, boys.”

She trailed a hand over Harry’s shoulder and felt him relax as she went past. If anyone noticed the gesture, they didn’t say anything, but she was pretty sure they were all too caught up in the game. 

She took a bath, washed her hair, hummed an old lullaby as she braided her hair for the night and combed it with her book in her lap. When the boys finished their game, she heard them head to bed and smiled.

With any luck, Harry would find sleep easily.

_ With any luck at all. _


	3. What The Eyes See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The competitive schools arrive and Viktor is introduced to trail mix. 
> 
> Yum.

The announcement of the Triwizard Tournament came before dinner was served. Dumbledore seemed so proud to be announcing it as if reviving and hosting deadly game that involved the potential death of barely of age wizards was the best thing to happen to Hogwarts since its founding. 

_ Probably because he gets off on seeing children being nearly killed. _

She winced at the thought, but she still reached out to take Harry’s hand and squeeze meaningfully. He gave her a questioning look, but she shook her head and smiled. 

“Just glad that you’re here.”

Harry beamed at her, “Me too.”

Hermione watched the Beauxbaton girls flutter in. The Hall went up with male sounds of appreciation. Swishing, thin silk skirts, heels and feminine allure-- they were so easily fooled. The blonde woman who led the group in made her tilt her head. 

_ She’s something, _ Hermione thought. Not sure what she was, but she wasn’t entirely wizard. She bet Veela judging by the way boys were staring at her. She glanced at Harry who seemed interested more in the spectacle the girls made than the girls themselves.

“And now, the proud sons of Durmstrang and their High Master, Igor Kakaroff.”

The boots on the ground made Harry's heart tremble. Where Beauxbaton sounded like fluttering fairies, the Durmstrangs sounded like war. Harry, rather than drawing attention to himself by getting up to leave, simply covered his ears, trying to separate the rhythmic thudding on the ground and the tremors through the stone from his memories. He felt Hermione’s hand on his back as the thudding continued, stroking gently to soothe him as everyone else seemed to be enthralled with the entrance.

Draco on the other hand, found himself gripping the bench beneath him tightly. 

Igor Karkaroff.

He’d met the man before and he’d always been creeped out by him by the way he thrust his daughter in Draco’s face, the way he leered at him. Today, however, Igor wasn’t paying any attention to him, or anyone else already seated in the Great Hall. Today, he was focused on watching the large, tall teen with shaggy black hair stride in with an awkward duck footed walk-- a walk that marked him as someone who spent a lot more time off his feet than on them. 

One Viktor Krum. 

He was beautiful all rough angles and broad shoulders. There was something in his posture that gave Draco pause, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Everyone knew that the IQL was filled with dominants and though Bulgaria advertised a blind selection process, no one really believed them. You could tell who was dominant and who wasn’t just be watching them.

Viktor was clearly a dominant.

He let his eyes drift over to the Gryffindor table. Harry had gone pale, moving closer to Hermione who spoke to him gently. She met his eyes for just a moment before going back to watch the entrance.

Viktor was clearly a submissive.

At least as far as Hermione could tell by watching him walk in. His feet shuffling as if he was moments away from running away from Igor who prowled behind him, eyeing him with a covetous look. She was pretty sure that no Headmaster should look at one of their students that way. It wasn’t just the fact that he was clearly running away. It was Viktor’s whole demeanor. He was pale as if he was in shock. His shoulders bowed forward as if he just couldn’t hold himself up straight. With the amount of muscle on his frame and how tense he was, his posture shouldn’t have been a problem. There was also the slightly pained look on his face. At first glance, he just looked vaguely grumpy, but she watched him closely, peering through the blinders of fame and his posturing. It made her heart ache just watching him, something that McGonagall called her Dominant Instinct.

There was no doubt about it.

Karkaroff was definitely a dominant which may have explained the covetous look, but she doubted it. From the way he sneered at the Gryffindor table and made sure to get the Slytherin table lengthened to accommodate the Durmstrang students, she knew he was very much like Albus: ambitious, cruel when it suited him.

_ What on earth is he? _ She wondered observing the student beside Viktor who kept pressing into Viktor’s space and drawing his attention away from Kakaroff’s stare. He wasn’t Veela, she knew that much. His hair was too dark, a rich inky black, cut shorter than Viktor’s. He was too large, taking up the space of at least one and a half students if not more. His presence was all wrong for it, but he was something not entirely wizard too.

She winced at the way Kakaroff watched Viktor like a hawk and how tense Viktor seemed under that gaze. Sure, he didn’t outwardly show it, but it’s the little lag in his reactions, the smallest twitch of his hands.She’d read about the Drop, but she didn’t think she’d ever see someone so  _ functional _ during it. Merlin knew that Harry dropped rather frequently, whenever he had a nightmare. As it happened nearly every night, he always looked shocky in the morning. She’d charmed his robes to regulate themselves and keep him warm, but had yet to find something that would at least lessen the nightmares. Severus had suggested several sleeping potions, but nothing helped. 

Harry’s trauma resisted wizarding treatment probably because it was caused by both magic and muggle means. Having a piece of Voldemort attached to your soul, ripped out of you on top of torture and the years of nightmares prior was probably more than enough to scar Harry’s physical and magical psyche. She knew Sirius thanked Merlin, the gods, and the universe every time Harry proved himself to be drawing away from the edge of becoming an Obscurus. 

Hell, Hermione did too. What a blow to the wizarding world that would have been.

Either way, the drop wasn’t something easily fixed. She looked over to Harry who seemed to be doing a bit better with a Pepperup Potion in his system and food before him. He ate just a little and ducked his head under her watchful eye. 

She hoped that Viktor’s very large and imposing friend was there for him the way she was there for Harry.

“‘Mione,” Harry said later when she placed a napkin full of food from dinner in his hands. 

His hands shook almost as much as his voice as he tried to hide his state.

“You’ll be hungry later,” Hermione said. “I know you don’t feel like eating all the time, but you need something in your system, Harry.”

He sighed and nodded, letting her hug him until the tension eased out of him. It was like this nowadays. He’d pick over dinner, dreading trying to get to sleep and what horrors awaited him in the land of dreams. His anxiety only made it worse, so when he woke up ill and retching there was nothing to throw up. His blood sugar remained dangerously low because there was nothing in his system, prolonging the effects of his endorphin imbalance. Hallucinations came quickly in his disorientation and made him even more terrified than before.

It was a vicious cycle that she attempted to interrupt every chance she got, but sometimes she wasn’t that lucky.

After dinner, she remained downstairs, waiting for the tell tale sounds of Harry stumbling down the stairs. Pale, tears streaming down his face. She met him at the stairs and steered him towards the couch to wrap him in a thick blanket and pull him into her arms. 

“It’s okay, Harry. You’re safe now.”

*

“Hello.”

Viktor looked up to see the owner of the voice. He almost cringed at the sight of her standing there. She smiled, her brilliant white teeth in her brown face was warm and inviting, but he waited for the giggling or maybe she would throw her knickers at him. Her hair was beautifully curly, wild in a bushy cloud around her head. It was almost distracting him from the knot of terror in his stomach.

“Hello,” He said, softly. 

“Could I bother you for those books beside you?” She asked. “I left them there just a moment ago.”

Viktor swallowed and looked over to the stack she referred to and realized that they were in fact not a part of the stack he’d brought to the table with him. He drew back from the table.

“Am sorry, did not mean to--”

“It’s fine,” she said soothingly, holding out her hands. “There’s plenty of table space.”

He stood, picked them up, and moved them towards her.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and slid the books further down the table with her things. 

She took a seat and seemed to forget that he was sitting there to his relief. He turned back to his books referencing his phrase book while he read and made notes. His eyes swam over the page, the world whirled around him slowly as he tried to force his attention on the words. The pain came next and made it excruciatingly obvious that his body was sick of him ignoring it. If the headache he was experiencing wasn’t enough, then the fact that his English wasn’t strong enough for this was another. Of course, there was also the giggling that was definitely making the headache worse. He shut his eyes.

_ Sweets, _ he thought. He needed something to get his blood sugar up that wasn’t as suspicious as chocolate. He shut his eyes, covered them and rubbed at the point of tension between his eyebrows. 

“ _ He’s so handsome… _ ”

“ _ I bet he’s a really rough Dom. _ ”

Hermione looked up glancing from Viktor who seemed to be getting sicker by the moment and then looked up towards the bookcase where the girls had congregated.

“If you aren’t going pick up a book a read,” Hermione started glaring at his fan base. “Please leave the library or at least go somewhere else where you aren’t bothering anyone?”

The girl with the Bulgarian flag wrapped around her waist glared at her, but Hermione gave her a look that had the group of girls scurrying away to do as they were told. Viktor looked at Hermione in awe. 

Mihkail was the only person that got his fans to go away so effectively. How had this girl done so?

“Thank you,” he said softly. 

She smiled and nodded at him. Her eyes flickered over the books in front of him, spotting the rather large Bulgarian to English Dictionary in the midst of a bunch of books in English. She tilted her head. He was clearly studying for the Triwizard Tournament. He was turning out to be more and more interesting by the second. And he desperately needed something in his system before he passed out from the Drop.

“Hi again,” she said with a smile. “May I make a suggestion?”

Viktor waited but shook his head. 

“If you’re looking for a version of those books that may be a little easier for you, I’m sure we have them.”

“What?”

“Bulgarian? Russian? Greek maybe?” She ventured. “We have most of those books in several languages.”

He blinked, trying to decode her meaning through the language barrier and his swimming consciousness.

“I could show you if you’d like. Or direct you there.”

Viktor swallowed listening to her and licking his lips. Eventually, he found the words in English that meant he agreed to take her help.

She nodded and stood, prompting him to do the same. He followed her through the shelves until they arrived at the expanded foreign language section. She directed him to the Eastern European section and watched him sigh with relief. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

“You’re welcome-- oh,” she said with a start and looked through her robes to pull out a piece of parchment. “This should help you find your way around the library.”

Viktor blinked and opened it seeing a red dot pulsing on the page near a section marked “Russian Spellbooks”. A blue dot marked where his things were at the table.

“Thank you,” he said. “Is great help. Hogwarts library much bigger than Durmstrang.”

Hermione smiled, “I’m glad. Good luck on your studies.”

She turned. 

“I am Viktor,” he said stopping her in her tracks. “May have name?”

She smiled, “Hermione.”

“Her...my-own-ee.”

He flushed as she smiled, “It’s okay. I know it’s a mouthful. See you around, Viktor.”

He waved her goodbye and went about searching for the books he needed, smiling a little and not really sure why. He was still freezing beneath his charmed robes, but the world seemed a little more stable around him.

When he arrived back at his seat, there was an unopened, clear bag there, it was small enough that it could have fit in his palm. He frowned and pulled out his wand to test its contents. It was just a package of something edible, safe and untampered with. He opened it curiously and shook some of the contents out. He recognized the nuts and raisins, but not the colorful hard things mixed with them. He put one in his mouth and moved it around with his tongue. 

It was hard and sweet on the outside like sugar. Slowly, the sweetness gave way to a different sweetness that made him smile. 

_ Chocolate _ , he thought and tossed the rest of the mix into his mouth. He didn’t know what this was called, but it was good and seemed to be doing something for his endorphins. The sugar hit his bloodstream quickly, clearing the fog around his consciousness, making it a lot easier to focus on his books. 

*

“Here,” she said handing a bag to Harry. “Sit and eat a bit before you collapse from shock, okay?”

Harry nodded, smiling down at the little bag of trail mix. It seemed that she was always carrying around a bit of food in her robes for anyone who looked like they needed it. He’d seen her hand out quite a few little bags over the past few weeks. 

“Thanks.”

Hermione took a seat, rubbing his shoulders as he ate quietly. When he wasn’t so pale, she gave him real food and walked him back to Gryffindor tower.

“Any chance you could help me with Potions?” Harry asked.

“Of course, so long as you eat a little more.”


	4. Chivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets someone new and Cormac is realizing that he isn't as close as he thinks he is. 
> 
> Well, not everyone can plan twenty steps ahead.

Harry wakes up screaming, sitting up, panting and quaking in his bed. He’s glad for the silencing charm he’d cast on his bed otherwise everyone in the room would be awake with him and that just wasn’t conducive to keeping a low profile. His hands were shaking.

Cold.

_I’m so cold._

_Chocolate,_ a voice that sounded like Sirius said. He needed chocolate and he grabbed for it from his bedside table amongst the food Hermione made sure to give him before he retired for bed. It was mostly fruit, dates, sweet things that would make him feel better and lift his blood sugar since he couldn't take his calming potion on an empty stomach. Honestly, the food worked better than the calming potion, but he didn’t want Hermione or Sirius to know. If they knew, it would only make them worry more, place more of a burden on them. He needed to deal with on his own. He could rely on them all time.

This morning the food does nothing more than keep him from shaking from low blood sugar. His stomach roils with nausea, but it’s manageable. He dressed for class, finished his homework, and left Gryffindor tower before most of Gryffindor was even awake.

Today, he has to avoid her. She’d worry and it would only make him feel worse to be taking up so much of her time. That meant avoiding breakfast. Not eating after a night like that, after taking his potion, and not sleeping will only make it worse in the end, but it’s a risk he’s willing to take. He managed to get through his classes with minimal effort, but if he was going into Potions after lunch, he’d need to eat, take another potion, face her, and maybe score one of those awesome hugs.

Sure, Snape wasn’t as harsh as he had been post-war, but he wasn’t a bucket of sunshine either. He didn’t pick on Harry these days, merely correcting him strictly, almost _gently_ ,  but the dungeons weren’t a place that Harry would ever feel comfortable in and Snape wasn’t a professor that he would ever relax with. If he was having a particularly bad day, he’d hear a voice like Severus’ in the back of his mind, flat and matter-of-fact discussing how much of a waste of space Harry was.

_The wizarding world doesn’t need a savior like you, Mr. Potter._

_Just like your arrogant father, Mr. Potter. How has that served you?_

Harry shook those thoughts away and ran a hand through his hair. Even without his anxiety, Harry wasn’t the strongest at potions. It was simply wizarding chemistry and honestly, he’d been rubbish at that when he attended primary school. He’d need his wits about him for every class, especially one in which they were expected to brew a potion.

The potion was one that would require magic to finish. Harry had learned quickly in France that his grasp of using his wand wasn’t where it used to be and showed only the slightest hints of ever returning there. It was best that he ate and gave in to the fact that he needed some sort of assurances before his anxiety made his wand do things he didn’t want it to do. He didn’t want anyone questioning his sanity and ability to do magic.

He wasn’t broken.

_I’m not broken._

_I’m not dead._

_I’m not helpless._

The mantra had never been the end all be all of his sanity, but it had often grounded him when felt about ready to tip into a spiral of panic.

For right now, he just had to get to the Great Hall without drawing any attention to himself.

 _One foot in front of the other Harry,_ he reminded himself, keeping his head down.

The warming charms on his robes were working still, warm against his skin but it did almost nothing for his insides, the tension. He felt people’s eyes on him, heard them whispering about him.

 _Harry Potter…_ Voldemort’s voice hissed in his ears.

_One foot in front of the other, Harry._

_Harry Potter…_

_Right foot._

_I’ll kill you, Harry Potter._

_Left foot._

_Just like your parents!_

His eyes burned as he stumbled, his breath catching in his chest and burning. The burn grew to a pressure, then a crushing pain. He couldn’t breathe.

_Can’t breathe--_

_Right--_

_Can’t breathe--_

_Left--_

His feet stopped. Something solid kept him from moving forward and bounced him back with enough force to send him falling back. He braced from the pain of crashing to the floor, of the embarrassment, of the cackle of Voldemort’s victory.

It didn’t come.

Instead, something warm and sturdy wrapped around his waist, stopping him from crashing to the hard stone floor. His bag slipped down his shoulder and to the floor as he looked up at the deep, rich voice like melted caramel and chocolate speaking above him.

“Forgive me. Are you okay?”

He froze, not sure what he was seeing. The thing around his waist tightened, drawing Harry closer to a solid wall of heat that made Harry tremble. The man, for surely no one with features like that should be called a young adult or a boy, was tall and warm like a furnace.

 _Handsome,_  some part of him said once Harry managed to focus on something other than how warm the other student was. Chiseled features that were more square and Slavic than anyone had the right to be and eyes of a brilliant blue. His hair was dark, cut short and stylish to enhance his features. His heart skipped a beat and he wondered, for the first time, if he was really even attracted to girls.

Harry yelped, startled at the closeness and the jolt of tension through his stomach. He stepped back to bow his head and apologize.

“I-I didn’t mean to--”

The man placed a large warm hand on Harry’s shoulder, silencing him with the contact. His warmth sunk into his shoulder, melting the ice and tension there.

“Easy. Forgive me,” he said gently. “I didn’t mean to cause you any distress. Are you hurt?”

Harry flushed shaking his head, “No, really, it’s fine. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The Durmstrang student only looked over him and picked his bag off the floor. He placed it on his shoulder and let his hand continue to rest on Harry’s shoulder.

“May I escort you to lunch?” the student asked.

 _Escort?_ Harry thought, something warm settling in his chest at the thought. The taller student simply waited, holding Harry’s bag on his own shoulder and watching Harry’s face.

“Erm, sure.”

He smiled and Harry gasped. Dimples, shiny white teeth, and a sparkle in his eye. He was gorgeous. Harry’s stomach flopped. Even if the other wasn’t currently smiling at him, he made quite the sight towering over Harry’s much shorter and smaller frame. He looked like he was only one flannel shirt, beard, and axe away from a muggle lumberjack.

_Covered in maple syrup--_

“I’m--I’m Harry,” he said nervously sticking his hand out, hoping to push that surprisingly lascivious thought away.

That had never happened before and while he was sort of curious at the flicker of warmth that the thought brought to him, he didn’t want to dwell on it too long. The student smiled, removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder and took Harry’s offered hand to kiss his knuckles with a small bow. Harry flushed darker as the student released his hand. Harry’s hand remained a little too warm even after the other straightened.

“My name is Mihkail. It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry.”

Mihkail placed one hand just below Harry’s shoulder blades and held the other out to direct Harry to walk with him towards the Great Hall. Harry could have melted then. Mihkail’s warm felt like a huge warm compress against the tension in his body, while Mihkail’s attention warmed something else in him. It felt a bit like when Hermione would hug him sometimes. One of those awesome hugs that made his entire body relax, but more intense as if she’d just held him for a while, bundled up in a blanket on the Gryffindor Commons’ couch.

“You’re from Durmstrang, aren’t you?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Is that a problem?”

“No, it’s just I was curious about all of you. That song when you came in and all that.”

Mihkail hummed, “It isn’t something we would have chosen, but what Karkaroff wanted.”

“It sounded like war, ” Harry said quietly, a small shudder going through him.

Mihkail glanced at him briefly before speaking. “Durmstrang is a school of fighting, but the war is over now. We have other things to do.”

Harry nodded, “What’s it like?”

“Cold, much colder than here.”

Harry nodded. “I wouldn’t make it for sure.”

Mihkail gave him a wry smile. “I think you underestimate yourself.”

Harry swallowed, his cheeks flushed a bit, but he wouldn’t look up at Mihkail. Mihkail found that intriguing. From just seeing him, it didn’t seem that Harry had anything to be shy about. He was, at least in Mihkail’s opinion, beautiful, though a little pale from dropping and remaining so low. Dark messy hair, round glasses to frame beautiful green eyes, Harry was gorgeous, yet there was more than just his looks. Harry’s aura screamed that he was in danger of having a dynamic related crisis.

 _Tread lightly,_ Mihkail thought. It wouldn’t do good to scare, Harry. Physical contact would help Harry relax and pull himself out of the drop, but too much could send him falling again depending on the cause of the drop.

“Are you from London?” He asked gently.

“Oh, no,” Harry said. “England though. Where are you from?”

“Wallachia. Though I believe that muggles call it Romania.”

Harry frowned. Wallachia sounded like somewhere familiar from Muggle history. “Like… Dracula?”

Mihkail chuckled. It seemed that everyone made that connection. He’d blame Muggles and the vampire’s inability to keep themselves a secret in history.

“Yes like Dracula. I’m not a vampire though.”

Harry laughed. “I didn’t think you were. What’s it like?”

Mihkail tilted his head thinking back to his mountain top village and it’s clear skies where Dragon would fly among the clouds. He thought of flying on the back of one and peace of his home.

“It is not something I can describe,” he said with a smile. “It is simply something to be experienced. It’s warmer than here, greener.”

Harry looked up at him as he began to explain that he was from a village on top of a mountain, a very old wizarding village. Listening to him describe his childhood made Harry smile in an almost bittersweet way. He sounded so very happy.

“What about your parents?”

Mihkail’s lips twitched, “They were killed when I was a kid. I can hardly remember their faces.”

Harry ducked his head in shame.

_Good going, Harry._

Voldemort cackled in the back of his mind.

“I’m-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No,” Mihkail soothed as they reached the entrance to the Great Hall. “Please ask anything you wish. It is encouraging.”

“Encouraging?” Harry asked, absently as Mihkail removed Harry’s bag from his shoulder and slipped it over Harry’s head.

He adjusted it to hang across Harry’s body comfortably before placing both hands on his shoulders.

“Of course,” Mihkail said with a sly smile. “It’s not every day a beautiful submissive bumps into you. I must make the most of it in hopes he will speak to me again.”

Harry’s jaw dropped at his words. Mihkail bade him goodbye and turned to head into the Great Hall. Harry grabbed Mihkail’s robe before he could move far. The taller student turned to Harry, wondering what Harry had to say.

“How--How do you know that?” Harry whispered, looking up at him fearfully.

Mihkail frowned. He didn’t have a full grasp of dynamics in Western Europe, but he couldn’t see a reason that Harry would be afraid that someone would know his dynamic. To Mihkail’s eyes, it was obvious.

“It’s the way you carry yourself. Any good dominant can tell.”

Harry swallowed and Mihkail took his hands, small and cold in his hands. “I am sorry if I have caused you distress. I did not mean to frighten you.”

Harry’s hand shook and Mihkail pulled him aside casting a simple illusion charm over them. Deciding that rubbing Harry’s hands wouldn’t be enough to dispel the chill, nor pull Harry from the edge, he removed his cloak and wrapped it around Harry. The smaller boy let out a gasping groan as the warmth settled around him.

It felt as he was lying in sunlight, pleasantly warm on the grass and steadily growing warmer as he lay still.

“Y-You’re really warm.”

Mihkail grinned. “Yes. I am.”

 _If only you knew how much,_ he thought.

Harry shuddered under Mihkail’s watchful gaze. Harry was getting paler and his eyes were drooping, neither of were good signs. His hands had been cold and tasted faintly of magic as if he was under a constant charm.

 _Warming?_ Mihkail thought.

If Harry had to walk around in charmed clothes, how far had he fallen and how long had he been there? His stomach churned at the thought and an anger burned in him. There were dominants at this school among the staff, they should have been taking care of him. If not the staff, then students surely. Had he no one to look after him?

Was everyone at Hogwarts completely blind or just unlearned? Mihkail wasn’t sure which possibility pissed him off more. Rather than dwelling on it, he calmed himself and stepped closer to Harry.

“May I?”

Harry looked up at him curiously as Mihkail held out his hands on either side of Harry’s face. He nodded shakily. Mihkail cupped his face in both hands gently and pressed his lips to Harry’s forehead. Harry mouth opened in a silent gasp. His eyes fluttered and his knees went weak. There was so much warmth flooding into him, swirling around his mind and cascading down his body. Mihkail’s lips withdrew as Harry whimpered at the feeling.

“Shh, you’re okay.”

Harry shut his eyes against the intensity of it and panted as it rushed into him. As it grew stronger, flooding him completely, he bit his lip to smother the moan. His body relaxed at the torrents of warmth washed away the cold and tension.

He opened his eyes to look up at Mihkail, dazed and intoxicated. Mihkail’s eyes seemed a bit brighter and focused as he watched something in Harry’s face shift. Harry was sure that he was going to pass out from how intense it felt when Mihkail slowly dialed down whatever he was doing and removed his hands slowly.

Harry wavered on his feet and Mihkail pulled him close to steady him. Mihkail smiled, seeing Harry’s aura, a vibrant energy around him, worlds different than the weak field that had been around him when he’d bumped into Mihkail.

“What…” Harry gasped into his shoulder.

“Still cold?”

Harry shook his head, closing his eyes and sinking into Mihkail’s arms.

“Good,” Mihkail said. “It will take a moment.”

He was so warm, intoxicatingly warm and relax like he’d been sunbathing for hours without consequence. Slowly, he felt his senses coming back to him. The warmth mellowed from all-consuming to a low comfort in him. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. Harry drew back slowly and Mihkail checked his hands. Harry’s fingertips were flushed warm and pink. He kissed them briefly and let Harry step back. Mihkail pulled his cloak from around Harry slowly, keeping an eye on his coloring for a few moments.

Harry’s healthy glow didn’t recede as his eyes focused. Satisfied, Mihkail put his cloak back on.

“What was that?”

“It’s something that my homeland teaches every dominant to keep others warm, especially submissives after scenes.”

It was only used for moments that normal methods weren’t an option and referred to as Emergency Aftercare. It was usually used in the winter when the heat of the fires wasn't enough to keep people warm or when submissives had expended too much energy using magic or surviving a traumatic experience. When his trainer had taught it to him, he explained it as replenishing a submissive’s magic reserves.

“You looked to be dropping,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Harry said, grateful for it. Hell, it was better than a Pepper-Up Potion and quicker that Hermione cuddling him close.

“Your dominant should take better care of you,” he said softly, brushing a bit of Harry’s fringe from his forehead and dragging his knuckles down his cheek. “It’s not good for you to be wandering around school in such a state. Someone could take advantage of you.”

Harry swooned at the touch and frowned. He had no understanding of what Mihkail was talking about really but laughed at the thought.

 _Him?_  Have a dominant? He wasn’t even fifteen yet.

“Do they not treat you well?” Mihkail asked the concern in his voice was captivating.

“I-I don’t have a dominant.”

Mihkail smirked. That was a far better answer than the one he expected. While it didn’t excuse any dominant that knew Harry, professors included, from allowing Harry to get this bad, it would explain how he managed to get so bad.

“Duly noted.”

Harry’s stomach growled and he ducked his head.

“Hungry,” he said with his cheeks burning a bright red.

Mihkail chuckled and dissolved the illusion, “Then we should go into lunch, Harry.”

He nodded walking at Mihkail’s direction towards the door. Mihkail bowed slightly as they parted at the doorway.

Hermione watched the tall Durmstrang student leave a flushed Harry at the doors and go sit at the Slytherin table. She made notes of his features and to seek him out later after returning her gaze to Harry.

He’d been avoiding her all day and she knew why. Her last class let out late, otherwise, she would have caught him before he’d run into the Durmstrang student. She’d seen him pull them into the alcove and wrap his cloak around Harry through something like a screen of faint blue light. She guessed it was some sort of illusion, though why it didn’t work on her eyes she wasn’t sure. She’d only meant to make sure that Harry wasn’t being hurt or taken advantage of, but it seemed that the Durmstrang student only meant to steady him and perhaps flirt a little. That was good. Harry could use some positive, interested dominant attention to get him to relax. It would be good to have someone else to keep a real eye on him. Harry knew her schedule which meant avoiding her was far easier than someone whom he barely knew. Perhaps if the student had a real interest in Harry, they could form an alliance of sorts.

“There you are Harry,” Hermione greeted, brightly. “You weren’t at breakfast.”

“I,” he started and took a seat. “I didn’t feel like it and now I’m starving.”

Hermione watched him, interested as Harry started to make himself a plate. She let her eyes drift over to where the student who’d flirted with Harry sat. Viktor came over to join him, sitting to his right. Draco sat on Viktor’s left before she looked back to Harry who was eating at a healthy speed for a change.

Seems like she’d have to speak to him the Durmstrang student who’d put that glow in Harry’s skin with a little touch and some words faster than she’d planned.

“So, who was the tall, dark, handsome dominant at the door?”

Harry choked and Hermione tried not be so pleased with herself.

“‘Mione!”

“What?”

Harry flushed, “His name’s Mihkail.”

“Yes. And?”

“I bumped into him and he escorted me to lunch.”

“Escorted, huh?” Hermione asked with a smile. “Okay.”

Harry let out a breath of relief, glad that she would drop it as he went back to eating. He left the Great Hall feeling more steady and more prepared for potions than he had since he’d returned to school. Severus wasn’t necessarily in a mood, but he was far more on guard than usual due to the use of magic with this potion. The margin for error was slim. No doubt the entire staff knew about Harry’s magical problems by now. Harry wasn’t sure what actually gave him the mental clarity to answer Snape’s question for a change, but he did and he felt bloody brilliant for it. His potion came out perfectly, much to his own surprise and he went to Defense Against the Dark Arts in a mood so great that Voldemort’s voice was practically non-existent.

He got through Defense Against the Dark Arts with relative ease given that he had a good control of his magic. Somehow he didn’t feel as terrified as he usually did when heading into dinner.  Hermione all but beamed at him as he ate a full plate of food and dessert before they headed back to Gryffindor Tower.

“Harry!” Cormac cheered, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Oh, hi Cormac.”

“You’re looking a bit better than usual,” Cormac said with a grin. “Happy to see me?”

Harry chuckled, “I’m just having a good day.”

Cormac snorted, “Since seeing me I’m sure.”

Harry laughed, leaning into Cormac’s touch.

“Are you coming back to practice at least? We aren’t playing this year, but you know the slave driver likes to keep us in condition. That and your replacement is rubbish.”

Never mind that she was a bit too friendly and touchy when Cormac wasn’t even remotely attracted to her.

Harry laughed, “The way I hear it you’re upset because she likes you.”

“I much preferred you as a Seeker.” He said, seriously. “Professionally and otherwise.”

Harry shook his head. Leave it to Cormac to be ridiculous as always. It was refreshing actually considering that Cormac was one of the only people who didn't change when he got back. He made it a point to be friendly when Harry joined the team and worked hard to make sure that Harry knew that their relationship hadn’t changed in the slightest.

_Hero of the wizarding world or not, you’re still my Seeker. The Yin to my Yang in Quidditch._

“I planned on it.”

“Wonderful!”

Harry laughed as they walked through the portrait hole together.

“Need help with your potions?” He asked.

Harry’s eye lit up, “Could you? I know Hermione had IWA things to do. I would usually ask her. “

“Of course,” Cormac said with a wink. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Harry flushed. He went to his room to get comfortable and came back down to grab a seat with Cormac. Hermione came in, carrying her notes and dressed in her IWA robes. It was late, closer to the time Harry would usually get some sleep, but he and Cormac were still up working on his Potions essay.

“Hello,” she said, in passing. She ruffled Harry’s hair and looked at Cormac meaningfully.

“Don’t stay up too late.”

Cormac watched her walk on before looking back to Harry who seemed flushed with happiness.

“Harry,” Cormac started.

“Yeah?”

“Are you and Hermione…”

Harry tilted his head, “Me and Hermione what?”

“I mean,” Cormac cleared her throat. “You seem pretty close.”

“We are.”

“Are you… interested in her?”

Harry frowned, confused. “Interested…?”

“Romantically,” Cormac said.

Harry’s nose scrunched up, “Hermione? Merlin, no! She’s like my sister.”

Cormac sighed in relief as Harry flushed asked, “Why do you ask?”

Cormac flushed and stammered, “Er, well… Uhm--”

“She likes chocolate,” Harry said helpfully. “And really old books. I think she’s researching old wizarding laws right now.”

Cormac blinked. Harry thought he was interested in Hermione? Harry looked back down.

_Fuck._


	5. Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is chosen and Cormac seeks out Hermione.
> 
> P.S. Mihkail is one suave and sexy man.

“Viktor Krum!”

The roar of Durmstrang students made him stand up and walk to join the other two champions. The two of them eyed him with curiosity as he scanned over the room picking out familiar faces: Mihkail, Petya, and most of Durmstrang. There was Draco, Harry, and Hermione who seemed to be watching him curiously. Her dark gaze made his stomach flop and his cheeks heat. He looked away quickly, but the feeling didn’t go away.

He knew she was there.

More importantly, she was looking at him.

It made him warm for reasons he still hadn’t fully figured out. When it’s over, he goes through weighing of the wands and the Crouch’s brief speech about the first challenge. The man’s words were cryptic at best, but he’d still take days of pondering the possibilities than having to be alone with Rita Skeeter.

He forces himself still as he’s left alone with Rita Skeeter and her eyes that see exactly what she wants to see. She asks about the World Cup, about his life and his dynamic. Incredibly personal questions that Viktor has plenty of practice evading. The rules of Bulgaria protected him at Durmstrang just as much and more in England.

His records were held by the head of his family and without his grandmother’s permission, or his own, no one could access them. More importantly, Rita’s article on him would be subject to scrutiny before it hit print no matter how much she was allowed to get away with publishing in Britain. It was very likely that for all of her questions and speculations, her article would get torn to pieces and rewritten anyway. That was at least one of the perks of being an international celebrity. His entire country would make sure that no country would ever speak a word out of turn about him without hard evidence.

When he was finally free, he made his way to the library.

“Viktor.”

He stopped and turned to Karkaroff who, as usual,  set a pace towards him that meant he would try and be more in his space than he liked. Mihkail told him once that it was dominant posturing at its most basic. If someone ceded space, he’d win. If they pushed back and gained ground, they won. If Viktor stood completely still or set the walking pace then Karkaroff would have to give up and the challenge was voided. Viktor usually took the third course of action since the thought of Karkaroff being so close to him creeped him out to no end. Moments like this mean that he would either stand still or be forced to push back.

The only problem was that Kakaroff enjoyed him pushing back a little too much, so Viktor barely paused to let Kakaroff catch up to him before continuing to walk at a punishing pace.

Kakaroff wanted to talk about his daughter again, the poor submissive girl who’d been being used as a pawn in her father’s struggle for power ever since she was a little girl. Viktor felt bad for her, especially since she was head over heels for Petya. Until Petya was old enough to challenge Karkaroff for her hand, they would have to keep their courting secret. It was cute really and helped Viktor keep his charade up. Karkaroff wanted Viktor in the family so badly that he forced Katerina onto him at every chance he got. Viktor was polite, played the part and told her plainly that if she helped him keep Karkaroff off his back, then he would help her spend more time with Petya.

Katerina got to spend time with Petya and Viktor got to save face.

It was a win for everyone except Karkaroff.

“I have studying to do,” Viktor said as they arrived at the door to the library. “I’ll see Katerina later.”

Karkaroff gave him a crooked smile, “I will be sure that there will be no interruptions.”

He went inside and as soon as he was out of sight, shuddered and pressed a hand to his mouth. The gesture seemed to soothe his nauseous stomach, but not his gag reflex. He wondered if every man that Karkaroff had thrust Katerina at had such leeway and what horrible things had she been subject to.  He prayed that Petya takes her from her father as soon as he was able and thanked the gods that his own dynamic guardian had never done that to him.

_Thank you, Baba, for caring about me as a person and not a tool._

“Hello Viktor,” he looked up to see Hermione’s worried expression.  “Are you okay?”

“Da,” he said, straightening and hoping that his answer was convincing. “Could ask for help, yes?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “What do you need?”

His brain went quiet at that question and he stared at her. There were words he didn’t recognize pushing at his lips. He swallowed them and asked her to direct him towards a book that might give him some insight into the Triwizard tournament.

*

“So Hermione,” Cormac started as she lounged in the common room. It seemed that everyone else was completely occupied.

He came around the couch and eyed her stretched out in her pajamas and comfortable, reading by the firelight. He’d set himself up for a challenge if she was dominant and an infraction if she was submissive. He still wasn’t sure as Hermione hadn’t changed at all nor made any mention of it either way since getting her paperwork.

“You--”

She  didn't look up, “If you hurt one wild hair on Harry’s head, I will have your balls for earrings, understand?”

He shut his mouth and watched her turn back to her book, “Erm… yeah.”

“Good,” she said and folded her legs so he could sit down, “What is it that you need help with before Harry comes back from the pitch?”

Cormac took a seat beside her and hoped that he was making the right choice.

*

Harry wrapped his scarf around his neck and took hold of one of the training brooms. It couldn’t go very fast and it couldn’t go as fast as his Nimbus had, but that was the point. He was supposed to be slowly getting back on the broom. Slowly getting used to his feet not being on the ground before he officially went back to practice. When he’d been with Sirius, they used a tethered broom. He had barely been able to be in the air for more than a few seconds without his broom fighting against the tether.

 _I can do this,_ he thought. He had to. He’d already told Cormac that he would try out and he’d told Hermione that he would be fine. He didn’t want to face either of them if it turned out that he’d lied. Cormac would be disappointed. Hermione would wrap him close and tell him that it was alright all the while never knowing how much it tore him up on the inside.

He swallowed thickly and resolved himself to the exercise. He mounted the broom and kicked off the ground hard enough to level it and keep his balance, remembering Madame Hooch’s words from first year. He thought of his feet on the ground again, but the broom didn’t move, instead, it moved up. His heart spiked and he gripped the broom tighter.

_Down. Down. Down._

It didn’t listen, going higher and higher until Harry was significantly high off the ground. He heard the wind howling, the darkness of the evening and it was enough to send him back to that time. He clung to the broom, trying to breathe, trying to remember that he was on a broom, clothed-- not naked and bound being tossed around in the air and broken. Voldermort’s cackling.

Bellatrix.

Dolohov.

People laughing sneering.

_Crucio!_

_Please. Please, let me down. Please! Please!_

He felt the broom jerk and cried out in panic as it sent him flying. There was a wall waiting to meet him lined with photos in which he didn't appear. The Dursely’s hallway as Vernon threw him across the room. Or the hard rock overlooking the Black Lake in a small clearing where no one would find him. There were stone stairs and Quidditch stands from his time at Hogwarts.

He heard himself screaming across time and into the air for help, in pain, for something before hitting something warm that grabbed hold of him and lowered them to the ground.

“Harry?”

The haunting laughter and sneering cruelty faded as he looked up at Mihkail who only watched him with those intense ice blue and golden sand eyes. He panted, struggling to breathe through the memories and the panic. A scream found its way out of him. Another.

Then another.

Then--

It was muffled in the curve of Mihkail’s shoulder and everyone after that. The other’s arms around him, blissfully warm and melting the ice that seemed to be at the core of him and fueling the memories and the screaming that he couldn’t stop.

_Flashes of pain and light, more pain… Dementors… darkness… green light-- screaming--_

_“Stupid boy! You'll learn some respect if I have to beat it into you!”_

_Glass shattered, cutting into his side, his leg. Petunia’s face sneering at him._

_“Don't you look at me with her eyes.”_

_Blood. I’m bleeding. I’m going to die. I’m going to die--_

_A hand yanking at his pants-- Help! Help me!_

_Stop it!_

_HARRY POTTER--_

Mihkail squeezed Harry close to him, to make him be still and _feel_ that he wasn’t wherever his mind was making him think he was. Harry still screamed into his shoulder, clinging to him as hot wet tears soaked into Mihkail’s cloak.

Mihkail took a breath and made himself draw back his empathy as Harry’s aura went wild with memories and terror. He was a maelstrom of uncontrolled magic. Mihkail focused on the warm core where his magic sat and let it fill him before pouring over Harry and wrestling with his aura.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You’re on the ground now, beautiful. It’s okay.”

Harry stopped screaming as Mihkail coaxed him to sit on the ground to feel it. Mihkail drew up magic from the earth, steady and sure through Harry, adding his own to settle Harry slowly. He pulled off his cloak and wrapped Harry in it to keep him warm and give him another layer of stability. Slowly, Harry’s magic calmed and with it, his mind came back to the present.

The demons got quieter, memories retreated back into the recesses of his mind like ghouls hiding from the light. The first thing he noticed was the grass beneath him, pricking him through his clothes. Then the warmth wrapped around him, flooding into him. The sound of a heartbeat beneath his head. Then the pain of a headache.

“Good,” someone spoke to him. “You’re alright. You’re safe.”

Harry tilted his head up to see Mihkail’s face. Pale with terror and eyes unfocused. Mihkail pulled him back into his arms, stroking his hair gently and letting Harry curl up to him, burying his cold face in his chest.  He barely felt the chill of Harry’s nose through his tunic beyond the way that Harry shook in his arms and wept bitterly. Mihkail worried his lip and looked towards where the broom had landed.

What had happened to him? What was he doing out here like this? Mihkail had only meant to fly a little to shake the feeling of homesickness when he’d seen Harry on the Quidditch pitch. It was nice enough weather and he’d considered joining Harry on the pitch. Harry had mounted the broom and soon after had lost control and screaming in terror and desperation as he clung to the broom.

“ _Help me! Help me!_ ” Harry’s cries for help had made Mihkail’s blood go cold.

When he’d gotten him to the ground, they hadn’t stopped. Harry was having some sort of flashback. What was he doing being allowed on a broom like that? He could have killed himself!

“Let’s get you out of the cold, okay?” Mihkail asked, but Harry wasn’t listening, still shaking.

Mihkail lifted him from the ground slowly, holding him close and walked them into the locker rooms. He settled Harry onto his lap and hummed an old song from his village as he held the smaller student. Harry’s breathing slowed down as Mihkail’s scent and warmth engulfed his senses. His strong heartbeat, arms and cloak locked around him, face tucked into his shoulder, Harry felt nothing, heard nor saw if it wasn't Mihkail in some fashion. It was heady and could be addicting if he let it. The warmth that Mihkail was pouring into him finally began to break up the ice in him and he surfaced beneath the frigid memories.

“Mih...kail?” Harry rasped, his throat rough and dry from screaming.

He thought it was memories. It seemed that he had been screaming.

“Harry?” he asked, threading a hand through Harry’s messy hair and tilting his jaw up to look at him. “You with me?”

Harry’s pupils were so retracted they looked like pools of emerald green, too deep to be safe. He’d regained a bit of color in his face, but not all of it. His vision swam a bit, caught between the Drop and the comfort of Mihkail’s presence. Had Mihkail not gotten to him, Harry could have seriously hurt himself from crashing to the ground. The shock could have killed him.

Mihkail forced the terror back. Harry was in his arms, he wasn’t physically hurt besides some muscle strain maybe. It was okay. He’d gotten to Harry in time.

“W-What?”

“Shhh,” Mihkail hushed him, “Just rest. You’re alright. I’ll take you back to your dorm soon, okay?”

Harry only turned, getting more comfortable in Mihkail’s lap, burying his face in his shoulder again. Mihkail was a man who had experienced a lot in his short lifetime, but he'd never seen a submissive act like that. From what he'd been able to gather from everyone he'd spoken to, Harry had been the Seeker for his dorm. Being on a broom should have been easy for him or at the least shouldn’t have caused him such terror.

 _Perhaps he fell?_ Mihkail thought curiously. It would explain why getting on the broom was so hard for him, but all in all, Mihkail wasn’t convinced about that.

If it was that, someone would have been there to help coach Harry on the broom. They would have him on a tethered broom until he shook his terror from the fall.

“Harry,” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”

Harry nodded stiffly.

“Look at me.”

Harry looked up and Mihkail grazed his knuckles against Harry’s cheek.

“You're beautiful,” he said and watched the flush across Harry's cheeks. “Have some chocolate.”

Harry took the bar from him shyly and bit into it.

“Good boy,” he said and Harry squirmed a bit at the rush of warmth it caused as he continued to eat.

“Brooms scare you?”

Harry swallowed and shook his head, “Not brooms. F-Flying.”

Mihkail nodded.

“I want to be on the Quidditch team again next year. I promised to try-out again, to go back to practice, but I-I haven't been able to fly since…”

Mihkail waited but whatever Harry was going to say was lost as he stared into his own hell. Mihkail licked his lip and pulled Harry close, resting his chin on top of his head, bringing him back to the present.

“I could teach you,” Mihkail said. “From the beginning, if you'd like.”

Harry looked at him as he smiled.

“My best friend is every Seeker’s idol right now.”

“You-you're friends with Viktor Krum?” Harry asked, a bit of light returning to his bright green eyes.

 _A fan,_ Mihkail thought. He’d have to hug Viktor when he got back to their room on the ship.

“The one and only.”

“Are you a Quidditch player too?”

He snorted, “No. I do live near a dragon sanctuary however as well as in one.”

Harry gawked pulling back with wide eyes, a little more color in his cheeks and awareness in his eyes, “You live in a dragon sanctuary?”

“Of a sort,” he smiled. “I'll tell you all about it one day. For now, let's get you back to the castle, okay?”

Harry nodded as Mihkail checked his hands for color. Satisfied with them, he dropped a kiss on them and met Harry’s eyes. Harry flushed, but didn’t look away.

Mihkail set Harry on his feet, tucked his scarf around his face and pressed Harry to his side as they left the locker room. They paused for a moment so Mihkail could summon his broom and the training broom had been using. He shrunk it as Harry put the practice broom back in the cupboard. Mihkail kept him against his side as he escorted Harry back to the castle. Harry ate chocolate diligently and did his best not to squirm under Mihkail’s attention until they reached the Gryffindor portrait.

Again, Mihkail bowed and kissed Harry’s hand before leaving. It wasn't until he walked into the common room that he realized that he still had Mihkail’s cloak. He worried his lip, wondering if Mihkail would get in trouble while fighting the exhaustion that was quickly overtaking him.

He'd have to return it in the morning.

Tired, he didn't stop to chat in the common room with whoever was there. He waved absently at the people passing him the corridor until he reached his room. His roommates were all gone thankfully. He cast the silencing charm around his bed and crawled in with Mihkail’s cloak still wrapped and warm around him. The warmth and the scent of fire-hot coals, musk and something that Harry couldn't place, soothed him to sleep.

Whatever it was, he slept through the night, waking up the next morning in time for breakfast feeling better than he had in a long time. He rushed through getting dressed, hoping to catch Mihkail before he got to his table.

The older student seemed to have anticipated this, waiting in the corridor that Harry had to take from Gryffindor to the Great Hall.

“Good morning, Harry.”

Mihkail took in Harry’s disheveled appearance, amused that the young man had nearly run right past him. Harry flushed, adorable and unsure gripping Mihkail’s cloak to his chest like a precious thing. He wondered if Harry slept under it the night before. He would wager that he had which would explain his restful, if not haphazard appearance.

Harry shuffled towards him and offered it to him with an apology for not returning it clean.

“You could patent that warming charm,” Harry said.

Mihkail didn't bother to tell him that there wasn't a warming charm on it and chuckled.

“May I escort you to breakfast?”

Harry stammered but agreed to allow Mihkail to place a hand beneath his shoulder blades and nudge him forward. Mihkail kept his cloak over his arm as they walked and his other hand in his pocket. Like before, the hand on Harry’s back felt like a bright warm compress easing any tension he could be feeling.

“May I write to you?” Mihkail asked as they arrived at the Great Hall. “There is a chance that we won't see each other as often when the Tournament starts.”

Harry swallowed but nodded tentatively.  “I-I'd like that.”

Then Harry frowned, “You’re entering the Triwizard Tournament?”

“Of course,” he said. “Kakaroff only brought students eligible and _worthy_ as he said. It's a requirement.”

Harry grimaced. That didn't sound fair at all. From what Hermione told him and everything he’d heard, it wasn't something that anyone should be entered into by force.

“And we can start whenever you’d like, Harry.”

He looked up and nodded. He'd almost forgotten Mihkail’s offer.

“If you get chosen, please be careful.”

Mihkail promised and gave him another kiss to the hand before ushering him towards the Gryffindor table. He waved goodbye as he turned towards the Slytherin table. When Harry sat down, Hermione gave him a smirk and a side glance from her book.

“No,” Harry said not bothering to hide the way her silent insinuation made him flush.

“Yes,” Hermione said with a smile.”Glad you're happy.”

A few minutes later, the hall began to fill. Ron came plonking down next to Neville who was reading his Herbology textbook. Harry fixed himself a plate and headed off to class feeling oddly steady, relaxed, happy even at the prospect of the day and perhaps having a flying lesson with Mihkail later that week.

“Harry!”

Cormac caught him around the neck and ruffled his hair.

“Cormac!” he yelled, laughing indignantly.

“How is my favorite Seeker doing?” Cormac asked after Harry wiggled free of his hold.

The younger male glared at him with bright green eyes as he tried to tame his hair to no avail. It was was already a mess before Cormac had gotten his hand in its soft fluffy mass. He looked better today. The dullness in his eyes was gone and his complexion seemed healthy as if he’d been eating and sleeping more.

“Favorite?” Harry scoffed. “You only have two choices and one of them likes to cling to you.”

Cormac grinned, “You could just say you want me all to yourself.”

Harry snorted and shoved him.


	6. Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mihkail = suave.
> 
> Hermione = awesome.
> 
> Dominants unite.

_How about this afternoon on the pitch?_

_Harry_

Mihkail’s lips tilted up at the short message that had flown onto his plate. He didn’t recognize the handwriting immediately, but he’d only met one Harry in the time they’d been at Hogwarts. He looked up to find Harry among the students at the Gryffindor table, waiting to catch his eye before nodding. Harry flashed him a smile that had him smiling back before Viktor took a seat beside him.

“Flirting, are you?” Viktor asked glancing over to Harry before grinning at Mihkail and patting him on the shoulder.  “I’m glad for it.”

“And you?” Mihkail asked looking at him slyly. “A little bird told me something about you eating in the library?”

Mihkail leaned against him as Viktor’s flush grew and he scowled at him.

“Secret admirer?”

Viktor shoved him hard. “Shut up.”

Mihkail snickered as Draco came to take a seat, greeting them both before starting to make himself a plate.

“Morning,” Draco groaned earning a snicker from Mihkail.

“You’re not a morning person are you?” Mihkail asked.

Viktor grumbled, glad for Draco’s ability to speak German as his English was a virtual trainwreck.

“Never,” Draco grumbled and shook his head. “What are you two doing today?”

“I have a date,” Mihkail said with a smirk. “I’m sure you two can find something to do without me around.”

Viktor gave him a flat expression while Draco focused on sticking food in his mouth.

“After you’re feeling more human that is,” Mihkail said with a snort.

“Tour,” Draco said as he reached for his cup of tea. “After breakfast?”

Viktor shrugged, “Sure.”

Mihkail nodded, smirking a little bit and watching as Viktor slowly drew Draco into the conversation and the waking world. It was good that he had someone to talk to who was just like him. Mihkail wasn’t convinced that the two of them knew that they were both submissives masquerading as dominants, but he was sure they’d find out in time.

After lunch, he waited by the Great Hall Entrance for Harry to say his goodbyes, finish his lunch and be ready to go in his flying practice gear. Mihkail smiled, priding himself on being a good enough man that he didn’t stare at the way the riding breeches hugged Harry’s thighs and hips but met Harry’s eyes with all the intent that he couldn’t act on.

As he expected, Harry’s cheeks gained a rather rosy flush and then they walked to the Quidditch pitch that was thankfully empty due to the Triwizard Tournament.

Mihkail’s eyes looked up to the stands where Hermione was reading a book. Her curly hair blowing in the breeze. She looked up, met eyes with Mihkail from above the pitch, and then went back to reading.

“I wonder what Hermione’s doing here.” Harry mused grabbing one of the training brooms from the practice closet at Mihkail pulled out his broom and enlarged it.

Harry wasn’t in a state to lie to him about having a dominant, but he knew a chaperone when he saw it. It seemed that Harry did have someone watching out for him, that was good. Perhaps if he got a little more information on the girl, he'd be able to form an alliance with her and declare his intentions honestly. It never hurt to have an in to Harry’s life.

“She’s probably here to make sure that I don’t do anything untoward,” he said smiling. “She understands.”

“Understands what?”

“What riding breeches have the potential to do with even the most honorable people.”

Harry blinked and looked down to his breech clad legs before looking at Mihkail who gave him a smile somewhere in between teasing and sleazy.  Harry cleared his throat.

“W-Where do we start?”

Mihkail chuckled and bade him lay his broom on the ground and stand beside it.

“With the basics.”

Harry worried his lip and breathed.

“But first, tell me why you’re afraid of flying.”

Harry looked at his feet, “I-I don’t want to lose control in the air.”

“Did you fall?”

Harry shook his head, “O-other things happened.”

Mihkail nodded and moved to stand closer to Harry.

“Close your eyes,” he said gently.

Harry did so, letting out a shaky breath. He could smell Mihkail, a fresh warm scent like linen drying over a fire.

“I want you to think about the first time you were on a broom,” he said with a smile. “Sink into that memory and then command the broom _Up._ ”

Harry tried to step back into first year. There had been something right about it. Something undeniably perfect about being in the air, even though he was trying to get Neville’s Remembrall back. Joy, he thought. He’d been happy. Just stepping into a world that had been hidden from him all this time and jumping at the chance to explore.

It had been a fantasy life away from the Dursleys and the horror of what flying through the air usually meant.

“Up _._ ”

He startled as it flew into his hand and he opened his eyes to see Mihkail smiling at him.

“Good,” he said. “Now, mount your broom.”

Harry breathed, swinging his leg over it to mount it and feeling the beginnings of a panic attack start. Mihkail took hold of the end of the broom and watched Harry breathe.

“I won’t let you go any higher than where you can touch the ground,” he said look at Harry who met his eyes. “Just breathe for me, gorgeous.”

Harry flushed, but he breathed meeting Mihkail’s eyes, hypnotic in their blue and calm.

“That’s it,” he said. “Now kick off.”

Harry’s breathing came out harsher and harsher still before he shut his eyes and kicked. He felt the broom wanting to surge up, to fly off and carry him screaming and sobbing into the sky, but it didn’t move any higher. His feet were still resting lightly on the ground, though his weight was supported by the broom.

“Good boy.”

Mihkail watched the shudder go through him and the way his head ducked and a small smile appeared on his lips.

 _Gods,_ Harry needed attention, craved it and he’d be lying if he said that the idea of showering Harry with all the attention he needed wasn’t turning him on and prodding at all of his instincts.

 _Focus, Mihkail,_  he thought. He would have plenty of time for that later.

“We’re going to move now okay?” Mihkail said. “Urge the broom to go forward.”

He swallowed, “I-I…”

“No higher,”Mihkail soothed. “I’m right here. I promise, no higher.”

Harry swallowed and tried to remember how to urge it forward. There was something, a little snag inside him that he tried to tug lose and make the broom move.

“Slowly, sweetheart,” Mihkail said. “Slowly.”

Harry’s shoulders relaxed and slowly the broom moved, barely a centimeter at first, but steadily it moved a little more at a time until it was continuous and Mihkail simply walked Harry around the pitch, keeping the broom close to the ground. It’s slow, tentative, but it’s good. Harry focuses on relaxing, getting used to letting his weight be supported by something else and Mihkail’s voice.

_That’s it, gorgeous. That’s it._

“Harry!!!”

His shoulders seize and the broom jerks, fighting Mihkail’s hold, but before it can go zooming off, Mihkail pulled Harry off the broom and let it go flying off by itself as he held him.

“Shh,” Mihkail whispered, stroking his hair. “Easy, sweetheart. I’m here. you’re safe. I promised, didn’t I?”

Harry nodded, feeling his feet on top of Mikhail’s boots and then the ground as Ron came towards them and Mihkail steadied him back on the ground.

“Doing secret training, huh?” Ron asked and then looked up at Mihkail suspiciously. “Hello…”

“Hello,” Mihkail greeted, keeping a hand on Harry’s shoulder and feeding energy into him slowly to stave off the slight scare.

“Hi Ron,” he said a little hazily. “What are you doing out here?”

“Wanted to hang out a bit, mind if I join?”

“Erm, sure--”

“What were you doing anyway?”

“It’s a meditation technique,” Mihkail said smoothly. “Lots of concentration, lots of magic. It’s hard for a lot of people to do.”

Ron hummed, “Yeah? Well, let me grab a broom and I’ll join.”

He turned to leave and Harry’s shoulders slumped.  Mihkail summoned Harry’s broom from across the pitch.

“T-Thank you.”

“He doesn’t know does he?”

Harry shook his head, “P-Please, don’t--”

“Easy, sweet,” he said, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “You’re safe with me. Would you like to try again?”

Harry worried his lip but nodded taking his broom from Mihkail and starting from the beginning. He’d mounted his broom before Ron returned with his own and followed suit. Mihkail didn’t bother to hold on to Ron’s broom as it seemed that Ron couldn’t even get the broom to come to him in the middle of a meditative state. He did keep his hand on Harry’s broom even as he told Ron to close his eyes and relax. Harry managed to work back up to inching forward at an agonizingly slow pace before Ron, impatient as he was, flew up to talk to Hermione.

Mihkail watched Harry relax a little more the longer Ron was gone and slowly start to smile at him. It was encouraging, the shy little smile Harry gave him as Mihkail led him around and when he was tired, he helped Harry down and pulled out his own broom.

“I’ve never seen a broom like this,” Harry said looking at it in Mihkail’s hand. There was clearly nothing of the English style in it, nor any other style he’d ever seen. Rather than a normal broom's end, it was cast metal, engraved to look like a broom. The metal didn't looked like any he'd ever seen before either, neither completely Peweter black or steel. “Is it even made out of wood?”

“No,” he said. “It’s made of metal, imbued with the magic of dragons. For various reasons, I was never able to really ride most brooms.”

The few he’d been able to ride had all been made with dragon heart strings. Dragon heartstring brooms were rare since wizards preferred to use beasts like dragons for wand making rather than flight. Despite him being able to ride them, they always made him feel sick afterward.

_Being able to connect with the heart of a dragon slain for parts could do that..._

Mihkail shook his head at the thought. There was a reason places like Wallachia and Camlann had such a hard time with the non-IWA dragon santuaries.

Harry blinked, “What? But you’re a wizard.”

He smiled, “Brooms have magic cores, like wands. Very rarely are they made so people like me can ride them.”

“Like you?”

Mihkail smiled, “It’s complicated and would take a lot longer than you think to explain. Would you be open to having dinner with me this weekend?”

Harry blinked, stammered, but eventually nodded. He’d have to tell Hermione so she wouldn’t worry and make up some excuse for Ron, but the thought of knowing more about Mihkail was far more appealing than hanging around the Quidditch shop all evening with Ron.

Not that he didn’t love Ron like a brother, but with their fifteenth birthdays nearing, he’d become more and more obnoxious. There was a time when he was sure that Ron meant to cut him up on the inside and terrify him with some of the things he said about submissive and dominant interactions, but he couldn’t be sure. Mihkail, obviously, had been tested already and proved to be dominant.

 _Perhaps I can ask him about it all?_ He wondered.

Mihkail grinned. No matter Harry’s motivations for agreeing to have dinner with him, it was an opportunity to ease himself into Harry’s good graces, to keep him in Harry’s mind. He had honestly expected Harry to say no, but it seemed that the universe smiled down upon him.

“Good, now, get on.”

“What?”

*

Hermione  listened to Ron as she read her book and tried to figure out what exactly he hoped to achieve by interrupting what should have been an easy chance to observe them together and for Harry to get some much needed attention. _Attention_ is what she surmised, but she was beginning to think it would end up being a good deal more than that as MIhkail was clearly initiating courting.

Usually, she would have given Ron a little bit more attention, humored him even, but between reading up on courting procedures for both her and Harry’s sake, planning her next move to entice Viktor to open up to her, projecting what Cormac’s next move would be, planning her next address to her IWA supervisor, thinking about what to do after Hogwarts, planning her next letter to her parents, and keeping an eye on Mihkail’s treatment of Harry, she just didn’t have any mental capacity to spare.

“Who is he anyway?”

“A dominant from Durmstrang,” she said, flipping a page. “He also happens to be Viktor Krum’s best friend.”

“What?”

*

“I’m not sure about this,” Harry said.

Mihkail wrapped Harry’s hand around his broom and watched Harry straddle it. It was much heavier than that a wooden broom, it felt different too. Wooden brooms usually felt warm to Harry, but Mihkail’s broom felt warmer like his hands were over a fire after being out in the cold.

“You won’t be flying alone,” Mihkail assured, straddling the broom behind Harry, keeping a safe distance.

“I’m going to take us up,” Mihkail said.

Harry tensed visibly. His shoulder drew up towards his ears and his arms flexed with the grip of grasping the shaft of the broom.

“I want you to hold on and feel my intentions through the broom, okay?”

Harry swallowed, “I-I’m--”

Mihkail licked his lips and wrapped an arm around his waist, drawing him back against him until Harry relaxed back against him.

“Not too high, I promise just enough to keep your feet off the ground okay?”

Harry felt them hover, felt nothing but air beneath his feet and stiffened despite the warmth radiating from the broom and broom’s owner.

“Shhh, gorgeous… it's okay, stretch a bit with your foot okay?”

Harry did as he asked and felt the ground, he opened his eyes to look and took a deeper breath.

“Just a little,” Mihkail soothed. “Focus on the warm feeling okay?”

Harry nodded, a little warmer from it as Mihkail guided them around the pitch slowly. Ron took a seat and looked at Hermione as she watched them intently.

“What's he doing?”

“He's teaching Harry a new flying method,” Hermione said.

“What for?”

“To make Harry a better flyer.”

Ron gave her a wry look, “And what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in the library or something?”

“Well Ron, I was minding my own business honestly. I can do that anywhere.”

He flushed a hot red, “You just wait until I'm tested. You won't be talking to me like that anymore.”

“I don't think your dynamic will influence my opinion of you Ron.”

Officially put out and at a loss for words, Ron left to rejoin Harry and Mihkail on the pitch and try again while Harry took a break from instruction. When Ron finally left Mihkail gave Harry a wry look.

“Are you sure he doesn't want you?”

Harry scoffed, “No one really wants me.”

Mihkail pinned him with a look that made Harry’s heart beat dangerously against his ribcage. Harry stepped back. Something hot and nervous twisted in his gut. He worried his lip and remained still under that gaze.

If Mihkail wasn’t so troubled by Harry’s apparent disregard for himself, he would have been burning hot with need.

“Don't ever say that again,” Mihkail said. “There are plenty of Doms who want you for all the right reasons. The next time you talk about yourself like that there will be consequences, understand?”

Mihkail wasn't sure what it was, perhaps his tone, perhaps his words, perhaps Harry was actually attracted to him, he hoped it was a combination of all. The look Harry gave him, dazed, hot, wanting, willing and oh so submissive made his mouth water. It screamed _yes_ in all the right ways. He reached out to cup Harry’s face in one palm and smile.

“You're gorgeous, Harry. People would be blind not to see that.”

He ducked his head, embarrassed, but Mihkail didn't push. Instead, he pulled him to his feet and escorted him back to the castle. Hermione hung back with her face in a book as they walked along and made plans for dinner that weekend. As usual, Mihkail kissed his hand, met his eyes and said goodbye. Hermione closed her book over a finger and stood beside Harry to watch Mihkail walk away.

It seemed like he stared after Mihkail for far longer than it took the student to disappear towards the docks. Hermione turned to observe Harry as he stared off in the direction that Mihkail walked. HIs eyes were bright, a little dazed. He held the hand Mihkail kissed to his chest, a light flush on his cheeks.

She didn’t read minds, yet. Merlyn promised to give her Legilimens training that summer and not a moment before. What she was good at was reading people. Harry was somewhere in between wonder and desire judging by his expression. There was a flicker of confusion and concern in his eyes as he looked towards his shoes and turned away to walk quickly into the castle.

“He likes you,” Hermione assured, passing him.

He froze in place and gawked at her as she kept walking. She didn’t turn around to explain, but for some reason it made his doubts recede a little.

He doesn’t ask her to clarify. He doesn’t say anything as they walk to Gryffindor Tower, but her words and Mihkail’s swirl around in his head well into dinner.


	7. Courting | Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part One of the Courting Arc

“Mihkail, right?”

Mihkail frowned. It wasn’t a voice he recognized. Thus, it was probably not a person who should know his name, nor where to find him. He set his book down and looked up to see the younger woman standing beside his table. His eyes flickered over her and he tilted his head. She was wearing the same colors as Harry did, meaning they were from the same house. A plain face wrapped in rich brown skin he recognized her as one of Harry’s friends, someone who was close to him at least, but he hadn't figured out their relationship yet.

His eyes glanced at her hair and they widened with understanding. This was the girl that had been chaperoning his and Harry’s first flight meeting. He’d wondered about her role in Harry’s life. Apparently, he would get his questions about it answered sooner rather than later.

“Yes, that’s me.”

She extended her hand towards him. “I’m Hermione. It’s nice to meet you.”

He regarded her hand for a moment but shook it firmly earning her smile. As he thought, she was a dominant which made this encounter rather interesting. Harry said that he didn’t have a dominant, but seemed completely oblivious to the possibility of anyone wanting him in that way. Perhaps she was pursuing him?

“I was hoping to have a chance to speak with you if you’re free,” she said. “Is now a good time?”

“As any depending on what this is about?”

She smiled and took the seat across from him. She met his eyes steadily. Such piercing brown eyes. They were kind, intelligent, and--

 _Is this the girl Viktor was speaking of?_ He thought, taking in her appearance again. It would account for Viktor’s preoccupation with the Gryffindor table and _Hermione_ seemed to fit the description.

“I think you know _who_ this about.”

Mihkail’s eyes narrowed. “If this is about Viktor--”

“No,” she cut him off. “I’m not so helpless as to use someone’s friend to get to them. Viktor wouldn’t respond to that kind of approach anyway.”

He blinked and took a glance away to be sure that no one was close enough to hear their conversation. Closing his mouth, he leaned forward, pushing his instincts to take in her scent, her aura, and her intention. She smelled like shea butter, cocoa butter, and something else.

_Dominant._

_Old books._

_Ink._

_Calm._

Whatever she had to speak with him about, Harry he was sure, she was incredibly collected about it.

“What is that you know?”

“Only what I’ve seen,” she said coolly. “But this isn’t about Viktor. I’m sure we’ll get to him. I’m here to talk about Harry.”

Mihkail sat back, a little frustrated that he got nothing from his instincts. They were usually able to tell him more about a person’s intentions than just her being  _calm_.

_Cunning._

_Observing._

_Protective._

“You are his Dom?”

She snorted. “Hardly. More like an in-school guardian. Harry’s dynamic guardian is his godfather.”

He let out a breath of relief. He smiled lightly, glad to know that Hermione was not competition. “Are you here to threaten me?”

“Nonsense,” she said. “You aren’t going to hurt Harry any more than he wants.”

His eyebrow drifted up and he smirked. “Are you here to help me?”

She tilted her head. “In exchange for something, you could say that.”

She scooted her chair forward and leaned forward. She interlaced her fingers and smiled at him.

“I think we could be of great help to one another, but if you hurt one wild hair on his head more than he can take, I’ll have your intestines for bootstraps.”

He chuckled darkly, “And I’ll feed you to a very large dragon.”

“Deal.”

*

“Hello Viktor,” she greeted kindly, almost startling him.

He looked up at her as she took a seat across from him. It was their normal thing now it seemed.

“Hello,” he replied looking across the table and watching her as she pulled out her things. “Have homework?”

She shook her head, “Just some Ministry things I promised to get done. You?”

“Tournament,” he said in explanation. “Is hard. Hogwarts not have many books on the topic.”

“Oh, Dragons?” She asked.

Viktor flinched, “How did you know?”

She beamed, “I may be friends with the Groundskeeper. There were a few, but I suppose they’ve already been checked out.”

Viktor winced, “Da.”

Hermione nodded and her lips twitched, turning to dig through her bag, “I may have something of use to you.”

From the depths of her bag, she pulled it out. She’d kept it bound since purchasing it. The book was in Bulgarian, a language she didn’t read. She’d had no reason to open it, but she knew that Viktor would need it.

She glanced up at the clock and smiled, “This might help?”

His eyes glanced over the cover and widened, “Mircea Dragomirov? How?”

“The bookshop in Hogsmeade is one I frequent often,” she said smoothly.

Never mind that she’d asked Mihkail to verify the book’s language before she purchased it in exchange for information about Harry’s likes and dislikes. Nevermind that Mihkail told her that Viktor had some experience with dragon handling already and was really just panicking. She was glad that the writer of the book she’d bought was not only a dragon handler but one trained in Wallachia. She hadn’t figure out what to make of Mihkail’s shocked expression when she told him she knew the difference between the Romanian Sanctuary and Wallachia, but given that he would be spending a lot of time trying to woo Harry, she figured she’d find out it due time.

“It may not have all the answers, but it should at least help, I think.”

“Is more than helpful. Thank you, will return it.”

Hermione shook her head, standing up and packing her bag, “I’ve got to run.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder gently and met his eyes, “You’ll do fine.”

Viktor’s cheeks heated for just a moment before she walked out. His shoulder felt warm for hours after, even as he opened the book and began to read.

It wasn’t until he was four chapter in did he realize that the book was in its original form, Bulgarian, and Hermione didn’t read Bulgarian.

_She’d bought it for him._

He swallowed, pressing the book protectively to his chest, his heart quivering a bit as Mihkail wandered into the library to collect him for dinner.

“Hello man of the hour,” Mihkail said. “It’s time to feed yourself.”

He glanced at the book pressed against Viktor’s chest and grinned. Seemed as though Hermione had managed to deliver the book to Viktor properly. He looked up at Mihkail giving him a small smile.

“Okay.”

He packed up his things, careful to rebind the book carefully and place it into his bag away from anything that might damage it before following Mihkail out of the library. The giggling girls seemed muted today through the buzzing in his ears.

Hermione had bought him something to help him in the Tournament, to support him-- to…

 _Wait,_ Viktor blinked looking over at the table, as she laughed and caught his eye, sending him a wicked smile across the way. _Did she know?_

Viktor swallowed thickly, turning his gaze away to get something in his mouth.

Mihkail winced as Hermione’s smile faltered a bit, but she continued on with her conversation. He would have to ensure her that it wasn’t her doing at all but had everything to do with Viktor’s insecurities. Whether Viktor wanted to admit it or not, having a dominant to show him that he could be just as he was and be a submissive too was exactly what he needed. Hermione didn't want to change him but did want him exactly how he was.

“Are you okay Viktor?” Mihkail asked in their room that night as Viktor sat staring at the book Hermione had given him.

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly, grateful for someone to speak Bulgarian with since his mouth was all twisted up with English.

“Tell me,” he said. “Is it about Hermione?”

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “I-- she b-bought me a book.”

“People buy you things all the time.”

“On dragons.”

He smiled wryly, “Yes.”

A book that she couldn’t even read to verify the contents of a very specific kind of dragon handling.

Viktor looked at him, “You--you helped her, didn’t you?”

Mihkail smiled, “And if I did?”

“Did you-- You told her? I--”

“Viktor,” he said calmly, careful to keep the dominant edge out of his voice. Viktor deflated, his panic soothing a bit at Mihkail’s even tone.

Mihkail was his closest friend, the only reason why he’d skated by this long under the dynamic radar. His panic was unfounded. Mihkail was a man with a dragon soul, a true Dracula with more honor in an eyelash than most people had in their entire body. He wouldn't have betrayed Viktor even under the worst cruciato curse.

“I didn’t tell her anything more than the fact that the book was in Bulgarian, not Russian.”

Viktor swallowed looking at him, “It’s-- it’s just a gift?”

He shrugged, “You’d have to ask her that. She’s not a fan of Quidditch, but she does seem to like you.”

“No one else has given me something I’ve needed before like that.”

Mihkail waited.

“Do you think she knows?”

“I think anyone who’s spent enough time talking to you and not at you could tell.”

Viktor swallowed and sighed, “Doesn’t that mean you’re a terrible tutor?”

Mihkail snorted, “Nonsense.”

Viktor snorted and worried his lip, pondering the book in his hands. It was a fascinating book, the leading book in dragon taming that had been translated into several languages and taught from. In his opinion, the translations were crap, but that could have been his own bias.

He fell asleep with the book in hand, soothed maybe with idea that she had really bought it for him in the spirit of courting.

He’d never been properly courted before and the fact that she was so very discreet about it meant that maybe she did understand.

Maybe she could understand?

_But wouldn’t that mean she was a dominant?_

*

Harry stepped through the portrait hole with a sigh.

“Rough day?” Cormac asked from the couch.

It was late, just before curfew and he’d only just left the library in time to make it back. Hermione was gone from the dorm on IWA business. She’d been sure to find him in the library, place food in his hands and instruct him to eat it.

“Something like that,” Harry replied and plopped down on the couch beside him. He looked over Cormac’s collection of books curiously.

He recognized some of the pictures from mythology books he used to read as well as some of the symbols, but not enough to know what he was studying.

“Ancient… Runes?” Harry attempted.

“That and Arthimancy,” Cormac said, shifting a bit. “You can’t tell anyone, but I’m looking to be a curse breaker.”

Harry hummed and nodded, “Makes sense to me.”

Cormac frowned as Harry leaned back against the couch.

“You’re not surprised?”

Harry hummed and pulled his cloak around him against the cold. Cormac shifted a bit and let Harry lean against him as he pulled a Gryffindor blanket over the younger male.

“You always seemed to be holding back in practice,” Harry said. “Like you played the sport and you liked it but wasn’t nearly as obsessed with it as Oliver or you appeared to be.”

Harry rambled on about Cormac sneaking around the Ancient Runes section of the library where very few people went. Harry was only there looking for a quiet place to do his homework. Cormac flushed and gawked at Harry as he yawned and began to doze off.

“I always thought you were smarter than what you pretended to be. You aren’t really made for politics either.”

Cormac’s lips twitched, “You think I wouldn’t do well in the Ministry?”

“Behind a desk? No,” Harry said. “Maybe as an Auror, but you seem happiest when you’re active.”

Cormac considered that. “You know, for someone in the spotlight most of the time, you pay attention to the details.”

Harry snorted, “The details keep me from dying, most of the time.”

Cormac swallowed thickly and wrapped an arm around him, “I know we aren’t as close as you and Hermione, or even you and Ron, but I’d like to be. So, if you want to talk, if you need anything, I’m here.”

Harry smiled and shook his head, “Just be you.”

“Me?”

Harry nodded. “You’re one of the only people who didn’t treat me any differently when I got back. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

Cormac smiled at that, “You’re amazing, Harry. No need to treat you any different.”

Harry hummed and Cormac wondered if Harry understood what kind of position he was leaving himself in.

“Don’t go to sleep with an older dominant around. Under fifteen or not, someone could try and take advantage of you,” Cormac said.

Harry chuckled sleepily and moved a little to lay his head in Cormac’s lap, exhausted and comfortable.

“I trust you,” Harry said simply. Cormac’s heart flipped and he lay a hand on Harry’s head. “And ‘mione would have your guts for bootstraps.”

Cormac snorted at that and stroked his hair, “Get some sleep, Harry. I know you’ve been pretty tired recently. I can’t hope to get you back on the team if you’re falling asleep on your broom.”

Harry hummed and mumbled something, but drifted into sleep nonetheless. Effectively alone with just Harry using his thigh as a pillow, Cormac let the words wash over him.

 _I trust you,_ Harry had said. After three years of near death experiences,  a war with a mad man, betrayal, secrets, and lies littering the wizarding world for him. Harry could still trust. More importantly, Harry trusted  _him_. He hadn’t thought he’d done much of anything to earn the other’s trust.

From the moment that Harry had joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Cormac had worked to make sure the youngest member was comfortable and not overwhelmed by Oliver’s obsession with the sport. Oliver wanted to win. They all wanted to win, but there were boundaries to be kept. Being the Keeper meant that he wasn’t really integral to Harry’s training, but they ended up being closer than expected because they were closer in age. He and Angelique had built a pretty good relationship along the way as Cormac coaxed him out of his frightened shell a bit more.

He helped the younger with subjects and concepts that he didn’t understand and helped Harry find his way in the wizarding world as much as possible. At the time, he’d considered it being a good upper classman, a good teammate, a friend maybe, but over time Harry’s little quirks and his humor had become painfully endearing.

He liked Harry as much as Cormac had ever liked anyone of any sex that wasn’t family. The warm feeling that had been growing over the years and practically burst into flames when Harry had come into the Commons in late September probably needed a new name, but he didn’t care.

“Goodnight, Harry,” Cormac said, stroking his hair and continuing to read for his exam.

He couldn’t help but think that he could get used to this one day. Harry, curled up beside him the couch in front of a fire exhausted from work or whatever else they’d gotten up to that day. In his fantasy, Cormac dozed off as well against the back of the couch after removing Harry’s glasses and setting them on the table. The fire died slowly in the hearth and everything seemed right with the world.

When Cormac woke up, there was a blanket over him and Harry was still sleeping on his thigh. He felt a bit stiff from the position, but he wouldn’t deny that it was the best sleep he’d had in a long time.

“Thank you.”

He looked over at Hermione who was adjusting the collar of her shirt and twisting her normally free and bushy hair up into a bun. She secured it with a quill and pat his shoulder.

“Make sure he eats?”

Cormac nodded sleepily and watched her leave the Commons. Harry didn’t move at her leaving and Cormac went back to sleep.


	8. Courting | Flirting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part Two of the Courting Arc
> 
> AKA the date. 
> 
> Also, Mihkail sort of has a secret.

Between classes, homework and the simple monotony of Hogwarts, Mihkail managed to sneak in an inordinate amount of time with Harry before their dinner date that weekend. Hermione had helped him learn Harry’s schedule. Mihkail met him after classes and walked him as far as possible to his next one.  They ate lunch outside together more often than not. Hermione was never too far with a book in hand, watching over them. It wasn't necessary for her to be there, but she knew that it would help ease Harry until he was more comfortable dealing with someone new who knew his dynamic and was clearly a dominant.

Mihkail chose the Three Broomsticks for dinner, hearing how much Harry liked the place and how cozy it could be for the two of them. In his experience, courting was best done when the submissive felt completely comfortable and it would be the first time Hermione wouldn't be anywhere near them.

She'd given Harry a panic charm when she walked him out to meet Mihkail and made sure to keep the location of it hidden from him. If at any point Mihkail did anything to frighten Harry or cause him distress, a barrier would erect around him and Hermione would come find him.

Harry ordered them two drinks from the bar and while he slid the mugs towards him, Mihkail paid for them.

“But--”

Mihkail placed a hand beneath his shoulder blades and urged him towards a clear table at the other side of the inn. Efficiently distracted by touch, Harry carried the drinks towards the table and sat down.

“What is this exactly?” Mihkail asked eyeing the frothy mug. He sniffed it.

Sweet like butterscotch with just a little bit of ale.

“It’s called butterbeer,” Harry said smiling across the table at him dressed in a sweater and jeans. “It’s the best.”

“I will trust you,” Mihkail said and took a sip. He winced at the sweetness. “Are all English drinks this sweet? Besides pumpkin juice.”

Harry wrinkled his nose and Mihkail found it adorable. “Not to your liking?”

Mihkail hummed, “I think it would be better warm. Though there are many things that I’ve encountered outside of Wallachia that are strange, like soda.”

“Soda?” Harry asked with chuckle. “You’ve never had soda before?”

“That and sparkling water,” Mihkail said. “I’ve never had anything carbonated until I left Wallachia.”

Harry sputtered, nearly choking on his butterbeer. Mihkail leaned his chin on his hand and watched Harry collect himself.

“Is that so strange?”

“Yes!” Harry said. “I didn’t think there was anywhere that didn’t have soda or sparkling water.”

He frowned. “But I guess carbonation is more of a muggle thing outside of butterbeer and ale.”

Mihkail chuckled, “Romania is a place blessed with a number of natural, pure springs, especially in Wallachia.”

There was no need for carbonation in Wallachia since it wasn’t something that dragons would really be interested in. Wallachians lived much like dragons did. Trips to muggle Romania, or even wizarding Romania, were those characterized by a more human experience, but Mihkail didn’t tell Harry that.

Harry watched the fizz in his mug for a while before asking, “So, if you don’t have soda or pumpkin juice, what do you drink besides water?”

“Let’s see,” Mihkail hummed. “We have _cafea_ . I believe you call it coffee. _Lapte batut_  and _sana_ are yogurts, but drinkable. We have beers and every other kind of alcohol of course. Wallachia actually has their own specialty version of Firewhiskey and brandy. It’s a very large export.”

Harry hummed, “I guess none of it is really sweet.”

He smirked, “No, just our submissives.”

Harry flushed and cleared his throat before dedicating himself to drink from his mug. Rosmerta appeared. Her usual apron tied around her waist and smile for them both.

“Hello Harry,” she said. “It’s good to see you dear. Quite a handsome companion you have here.”

Mihkail smiled at her, “Hello ma’am.  A pleasure to meet you.”

She flushed at his voice as Harry stared at him amazed. It was nice to know that he wasn’t the only that Mihkail’s presence affected so much. He’d noticed it a bit as Mihkail escorted him into the pub earlier, but Rosmerta’s reaction confirmed it.

Perhaps male Veela were just _bigger_?

“Such a gentlemen. You’d better keep him around. You might be able to teach that Weasley boy some manners.”

Harry chuckled, “I’ll leave that to Hermione.”

“I wouldn’t if you’d like him to remain in one piece,” she said with a chuckle. “What can I get you boys?”

Mihkail looked to Harry, “Harry?”

“Erm,” he stammered. “What’s the special for the day?”

“For two growing young men?  Salad, smoked Turkey Legs, potatoes, corn, and spareribs.” She smiled. “I don’t think you’d be able to get through it all on your own, but you definitely need the meat on your bones!”

Harry flushed and looked at Mihkail who only watched with an amused smile. “Does that sound good?”

“Sounds perfect,” he said. “And the Madame is correct. You are a bit on the _skinny_ side.”

He huffed indignantly as Madam Rosmerta chuckled and turned away to get started on their order. Harry busied himself drinking from his mug as Mihkail watched.

“Have I offended you?” He asked taking Harry’s hand across the table.

Harry’s breath caught and he met the other’s eyes. Mihkail’s hand was warm and gentle. There were callouses on his palms and fingertips, but they were soft. Harry looked at their joined hands. His hand seemed so small and pale beneath Mihkail’s, delicate even.

“No,” he said. “Just… I should really be used to it by now. People calling me skinny.”

His lips twitched thinking of Molly piling his plate high as if he could eat like three boys Mihkail’s size rather than one Harry’s size. Madame Rosmerta always gave him extra food. McGonagall made sure to feed him something every time he was in her office. Hermione seemed to be watching over his food intake like a hawk and when he was with Sirius the man always insisted they have full meals even if Sirius himself wasn’t completely used to eating three rich square meals a day either.

“Does it bother you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I know it’s because they care.”

He worried his lip as Mihkail rubbed soothing circles on Harry’s hand. Harry gasped feeling the movement.

“Does this bother you?”

“N-no, I just-- It’s just unexpected.” He said. “There aren’t many people who touch me so freely.”

 _Though you obviously need it?_ Mihkail thought watching his aura relax and shift into that calm gold that meant Harry was relaxed and happy. He’d noticed the first time they met that Harry was severely touch-starved. He was learning through his conversations with Hermione that English dominants weren’t fully connected to their dominant instincts as they should be. Hermione had asked him to teach her as much as he could and he agreed since it would help in her pursual of Viktor. It had been almost horrifying how much she _hadn’t_ known until she revealed that she was actually Muggle-born and had only just turned fifteen.

Baba Krum would get a kick out of Viktor being pursued by someone three years younger than him.

“It’s just that everytime someone says it, it makes me remember why I never had much a chance to get any bigger.”

Mihkail held back the question, only holding Harry’s hand and waiting for Harry to decide whether or not he wanted to tell him the reason behind it.

“B-Before the end of the war, I lived with my aunt, uncle, and cousin.” Harry swallowed thickly. “Then, my godfather, Sirius, he got exonerated and I went to live with him while I recovered.”

He laughed incredulously, “I’m still trying to come to terms with the fact that I’m actually alive given how nearly close I’ve come to dying since entering the wizarding world… and even before that.”

Mihkail’s eyes widened as he stared, shocked across the table. _Sirius Black?_ _The War?_ What would a fourth year student know about the War? Why would that have made a difference to Harry’s life? Let alone nearly ended it? Sirius Black was Harry’s godfather and dynamic guardian?

“Harry,” he said. “Why would the war have affected you? You’re only in your fourth year.”

Harry gasped, his eyes widening and jaw dropping. “Y-You don’t know who I am?”

“You’re Harry,” Mihkail said. “A very gorgeous fourth year at Hogwarts.”

Harry flushed and reached up to pull his bangs back. Mihkail glanced at the lightning bolt scar on his forehead  and then met Harry’s green eyes with no semblance of understanding. Harry laughed, incredulous and amazed. There was someone in the wizarding world who didn’t know who he was? There was someone who had actually just approached him in the aftermath because he looked like he needed help?

“How did you get that scar?”

“I’ve had it since I was a baby,” he said thickly. “The monster who k-killed my parents gave it to me when he tried to kill me too.”

Mihkail frowned. There was something tugging at the edge of his memory. A story he’d been told when he was younger on his first trip to Targoviste. It had been so long since then that he couldn't remember the details.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said stiffly waiting for the understanding to dawn on him.

“Oh,” Mihkail said.

Harry blinked and sputtered out a laugh. He threw his head back and laughed so hard he had to wrap his arms around his midsection. Amazed, shocked, scared, and maybe a little hysterical. The whole of what had nearly killed him, what had been the greatest known fact about him for the last four years, since that night in October in the wizarding world, received an _oh_ from this man who’d invited him out to dinner.

“Are you okay?” Mihkail asked, not entirely sure why Harry was so out of breath.

“It’s just--” Harry gasped. “Y-you don’t know who I am! It’s hilarious!”

He grimaced, “Is that a bad thing? I have at least heard your story when I was a child.”

Mihkail scavenged his mind for details, but he couldn't find any. The story had not seemed important enough at the time he supposed.

“No, no, no,” Harry said shaking his head and taking his hand in his. “It’s a _relief_. I thought you’d just started all of this because you knew who I was. You never knew at all?”

Mihkail shook his head. Harry had just been a submissive in need of help. His instincts had demanded that he help and the dragon in him had become instantly interested in him. There was so much strength radiating from him, new and old twined togther and reborn endlessly.

“No, Harry,” he said. “Is that okay?”

Harry shook his head, “It’s perfect.”

Mihkail was going to ask, but Madam Rosmerta reappeared with their salads before he could manage it. Harry drew his hand back across the table, his blush deeper than it had a moment before.

“Don’t be shy, Harry,” Rosmerta said. “He is quite _delectable_ . _”_

If the words hadn’t been enough to turn his ears red, then the wink she added on the end definitely did it. Mihkail thanked Rosmerta for the both of them and contented himself to eat while Harry picked at his salad and hid his face.

“You’re adorable when you blush.”

Harry let out a harsh sound as Mihkail at quietly. When the flush died down enough, Mihkail nudged Harry’s foot with his own. The younger looked up at him.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he said. “I think you’re quite delectable too.”

 _Merlin, help me,_  Harry thought ruefully.

“T-Tell me more about Wallachia. What do you do for fun?”

Mihkail’s lips twitched, but he swallowed what he wanted to say along with the taste of English lettuce. It wasn’t nearly as fresh as what he knew in Wallachia, but it was world’s better than the taste of lettuce at a Durmstrang table.

_Thank god, this was my last year._

“We fly,” he said. “We race. We have games in the air.”

“Like Quidditch?”

He gave a barely restrained smile. Games played on the backs of dragons were nothing like those played on brooms. There was a form of magic tag played for dragon tamers in training. His people played it across the mountains and with other groups of like them too.

“Something like it. It’s more like dueling in the air.”

Harry hummed, “You must be a really good flyer.”

“I am,” he said. “You’ll have to visit one day.”

“You? In Wallachia?”

“Yes,” he said. “I think you would enjoy it.”

Harry hummed, “I’ll think about it.”

“Of course,” he said. “In the meantime, answer me this: why is it such a relief for me not to know who you are? I imagine your name carries a great deal of fame here in England. Unfortunately,  I’m from an IWA territory so I don't know much about the war. I know why Viktor runs from his spotlight, but what of yours?”

Harry winced and Mihkail grit his teeth.

“If I’ve caused you trouble by asking, forgive me and we’ll speak about something else.”

“No,” he said. “It’s fine. It’s just strange to be explaining this to me when it was never completely explained to me.”

Hagrid--

His stomach turned at the thought, his fists tightening on his silverware and his eyes went dark.

Hagrid…

Hagrid had been there in the dark clearing with him, looking for him. Spells had done little damage to the half-giant and as Harry screamed for him to leave him behind, to go, Voldemort-- Tom Marvolo Riddle had struck him down one savage curse after another.

 _See what happens to those that stand in my way, Harry Potter? All of your little friends and family gone like this--_ **_Avada_ ** \--

Harry jerked at the pressure on his hand from Mihkail’s grip. The warm crept slowly up his arm, battling away the thoughts.

“For another time, Harry,” he said gently. “What’s your favorite subject?”

*

Despite the several mishaps in conversation, Mihkail was hard pressed to call dinner a disaster with Harry. Dessert had been amazing, watching Harry lick chocolate off the spoon had provided more than enough fodder for his fantasies and his teasing.

“I was never given sweets as a kid,” Harry said his eyes bright as he ate. “It’s kind of the one thing I’ve dedicated myself to catching up on.”

It was something that firmly drew the line between his present and his past. Sirius made sure they always had dessert even if Harry couldn’t get through a full meal. They’d also found that sweets was a quick way to get Harry out of his tumble down in the middle of the night.

 _And living,_  Mihkail hoped. Highly concentrated chocolate, lift Harry’s mood in an emergency. He’d have to remember to teach Hermione a few transference techniques in the upcoming weeks.

For now, he made it a goal to get Harry’s cheeks that rosy color again. Mihkail reached across the table to wipe a smudge of chocolate from Harry’s lips. Harry froze, their eyes meeting as Mihkail licked it off his thumb and smirked.

“Sweet.”

Harry flushed setting the spoon down as Rosmerta appeared. He was just distracted enough that he didn’t notice Mihkail paying for the meal.

“But--”

“Hush,” Mihkail said standing and offering his hand to Harry. “I asked you out, remember?”

Harry worried his lip and nodded. Rosmerta wiggled her eyebrows as Harry took Mihkail’s and and allowed him to lead him out of the inn.

It was cold when they exited. Too cold for Harry’s sweater alone. Mihkail removed his cloak and wrapped it around Harry.

“A-Aren’t you cold?”

He snorted, “I rarely get cold, Harry. Come. I should get you back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew.”

Harry winced, “All the carriages have gone.”

Mihkail snorted and reached into his pocket. He pulled out his broom and enlarged it before falling back onto it as it hovered.

“Come,” he said. Harry took his hand and let Mihkail maneuver him in between his body and the broom. He held on tightly as Mihkail took them up above Hogsmeade. The flight was scenic, gorgeous in the late winter moon. Rather than the traditional route, he spelled Harry’s room window open and helped the younger man crawl in.

“Good night, Harry,” Mihkail breathed, grazing his lips against Harry’s.

He grinned at the way Harry jerked back and stammered out a good night. Mihkail floated away from the window as the door opened.

“Harry!”

He yelped and turned around to see Ron, “Uh, hi Ron.”

“When’d you get back? I haven’t see you all day! Good load of help Hermione was about where you were…”

Ron rambled on and got dressed for bed. “Should have been there. There’s a new Nimbus out on display.”

“Oh,” Harry said weakly, sliding away from the window to take a seat on his bed. He only listened partially to whatever Ron had to say, busying himself instead with reminiscing.

“Where were you anyway? Would have thought you would be in Hogsmeade every chance this year.”

“Oh.. I was. Just hanging out with… Mihkail.”  
Ron raised an eyebrow. The name sounded familiar but since it wasn’t familiar enough, he assumed it was someone from Durmstrang.

“Probably wanting to know the great Harry Potter a little more. It’s incredible how lukcy people outside the IWA are to have grown with stories of you,”

Harry gave him a hesitant smile, “I wouldn’t say that.”

Ron waved it off, “That’s because you grew up with those muggles. Bet you’d have something different to say entirely if you’d grown up the way you were supposed to.”

Harry flinched at that and stood up abruptly. He knew he said something about getting ready for bed, but he wasn’t sure. He grabbed what looked like his favorite pajamas and his thicker socks. The cold was coming on faster than he could move towards the shared bathroom.

Harry turned on the water to full blast and full heat and stepped beneath the spray. It felt scalding, burning on his skin, but it did nothing for how cold he was. He sunk down in his wet jeans and sweater beneath the hot spray and wrapped his arms around himself, shaking.

_Mummy, loves you…_

_Don’t be afraid, ‘arry!_

_HARRY POTTER!_

Mihkail looked up toward the sky. Something twisted in him, an instinct that he hadn’t felt pulled in a while. His brow wrinkled as he continued looking out the window of the boat. Viktor slept peacefully in his own bed.  The Dragon Challenge was tomorrow and he knew that the other would need all the rest he could get.

After all, the dragons that had been brought for the challenge were from Romania, chained beasts. He heard them in the distance and his stomach churned. Unable to sleep, he opened the window of their room and took to the air. It’s the scent of fire and distress that draws him towards the forest. The dragon tamers were all but asleep even as the dragons cried out in their cages. The area had been silenced, but it meant nothing to someone like him.

He hovered low over the cages, lowering himself to be seen easily and meeting the Welsh Green’s eyes. She was a beautiful creature, assessing him floating before her cage.

 _Rest,_ he thought. The dragon’s eyes steadied and her breath calmed, syncing with Mihkail’s.

He swallowed and reached out to place his hand against her scales. Pain rushed through him, making his eyes burn and his heart clench. She had been injured in transport from straining against her bonds.

_My eggs, my eggs, must protect my eggs._

_Shh,_ he soothed, forcing a healing heat through his palm to seek out the dragon’s injuries and lull her to sleep. Welsh Greens as they were called to those outside of Wallachia were notoriously easier to subdue than any other for wizard trained tamers and those trained in Wallachia.

He went on, healing injuries and lulling the dragons into sleep. He hoped, beyond hope, that Viktor did not get the Hungarian Horntail. She was in a particularly foul mood having been dragged so far away from her actual nest. One of the tamers had dropped her egg, killed her child and she hadn’t been allowed the satisfaction of burning him to a crisp.

Mihkail doubted she would be forgiving to any humans she encountered.


	9. Courting | Body Synchrony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1) Madam Pomfrey is #TeamDumbleore AKA a LOSER
> 
> 2) Mihkail is NOT to be fucked with
> 
> 2.5) He is also a badass
> 
> 3) Hermione may be a suave mofo too. :)
> 
> Part 3 of the Courting Arc.

When Mihkail saw Harry in the morning, the young man was hardly coherent, stumbling around in his pajamas and houseshoes. He was pale and without glasses, his hair plastered to his forehead with a cold sweat. Hermione was attempting to steer him towards the Infirmary and Mihkail’s stomach had dropped somewhere near his feet.  That instinct hadn’t been about the dragons, at least not alone. It had been for Harry.

“Harry!” Hermione said as he tripped over his feet and went sideways. Mihkail caught him before he managed to hit the wall and perhaps do some serious damage to himself in the process.

“ _I’m so sorry, Hagrid…_ ” Harry murmured, green eyes delirious and wet with tears. He wept brokenly and MIhkail looked to Hermione’s whose eyes widened at the words.

Mihkail lifted Harry into his arms and pulsed as much magic as he could into the young man. Tending the dragons had taken a great deal out of him, but not so much that he couldn’t at least get Harry to the Infirmary.

“Show me the way,” he said.

Hermione turned and set a brisk pace towards the Infirmary. Harry wailed in his arms, inconsolable. Loud animal screaming, terrified and desperate as he shook. Mihkail could feel his own concentration and strength waning as they passed students who stared at them.

Hermione glared at them, daring them to say anything even if they did recognize Harry. She shut the door to the Infirmary behind Mihkail soundly as Harry let out another scream of pain.

“How long has he been like this?” Mihkail asked.

Hermione shook her head, “I couldn’t tell you. When he didn’t come down for breakfast, I went up to get him and found him like this.”

Madame Pomfrey appeared, rushing towards them from her office, demanding to know what happened. Hermione relayed as many details as she could as Mihkail sank down on a cot and continued to rock Harry, forcing more magic into him as the Healer scurried to find a stronger calming potion.

“H-Hagrid,” Harry whimpered. “ _Wake up, Hagrid._ ”

Mihkail stroked his hair and rocked him gently when his strength finally gave out and forcing himself to give anymore would have been dangerous for both of them. He shrugged out of his cloak and wrapped Harry in it. The effect was slow coming, drawing Harry out of his nightmare world to blinked blearily up at Mihkail.

“M-Mihkail?”

He sighed in relief, “Hello, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes drifted to Hermione’s worried and relieved expression.

“Hermione, wha’ happen’?” he slurred, not feeling completely together even as Mihkail’s warmth began to sink into his skin. It wasn’t like before when it seemed to be pouring into his soul, but it was beautiful.

“You were having a nightmare, but you wouldn’t wake up,” Hermione said. “You with me now?”

Harry nodded as she took his head, “‘m sorry--”

“Don’t you ever apologize for this,” Hermione said fiercely. “We both know it isn’t your fault.”

“H-Hagrid…”

“Not your fault,” she said, squeezing meaningfully and meeting his eyes. “Say it for me?”

Harry’s jaw trembled, “N-Not… my fault.”

“And Sirius?”

“N-Not m-my fault,” he said thickly. The tears started up again as he struggled to breathe.

“Your nightmares?” Hermione said.

“Not…” Harry gasped for a breath. It caught in his chest and nearly choked him.

Nightmares.

His nightmares.

Voldemort--

He was there. Here. Here still.

 _Still alive_ \--

_I’m going to kill you, Harry Potter._

“Harry,” Mihkail said, drawing his attention just before he began to hyperventilate and sink beneath his terror again. “Say it for me.”

Harry’s jaw trembled as Mihkail stroked his cheek gently.

“Please, sweet. Say it.”

“Not my f-fault.”

Mihkail pressed his lips gently to Harry’s scar making the younger gasp. There was just a tingle of warmth, powerful and shocking that rushed across his forehead and down his body at the gentle pressure.

“Not my fault,” Harry said, relaxing against Mihkail and dozing off.

Madam Pomfrey returned to pour the potion into his mouth and instruct Mihkail to let her handle the rest. He was resistant, but he settled Harry beneath the blankets. It was strange to see him without glasses. Even stranger to be so relieved that he seemed to be taking on a fever. It was a good sign. His body was reacting to the stress rather than shutting down. He shook out his cloak over Harry’s bed and lay it on him. The young man stirred a bit, relaxing a little more under the weight and warmth of it.

“It will keep him warm,” Mihkail said. “Perhaps, he’ll find some comfort in it as well.”

She was going to protest. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t cast a simply warming charm on Harry’s bed if need be, but quieted at Hermione’s stern stare. She looked to Harry who turned on his side and drew the cloak up. His fingers curled in the fur and he buried his face in it, sighing comfortably and seemingly falling out of unconsciousness into a true sleep.

“I will send Mr. Potter to the Grand Hall for lunch if he wakes up,” she said. “For now, the two of you should go on and feed yourselves, I don’t need you two to end up here especially with today’s challenge.”

Hermione swallowed whatever she was going to say and took Mihkail’s lead out of the door. When the door closed behind them, Hermione forced herself to breathe in slowly and release the breath slowly.

“What happened last night?” Hermione asked.

Mihkail shook his head, “I dropped him off back at his room and he was in good spirits…”

He’d hovered by the window for just a few moments after a red head, Ron Hermione supplied, had entered the room and began speaking to Harry.

“If it was my doing, you may have my intestines for laces, but I don’t believe it was.”

Hermione shook her head, “No. It probably wasn’t.”

She sighed and sunk down to the ground. With her head tilted back against the wall and her cloak spread out around her, she looked so tired.

“Thank you for your help,” Hermione said. “It’s good to have someone around that can calm him. I seem to be rubbish at it.”

“Would you tell me… what happened to him?” Mihkail said. “At least as much as you’re able to.”

Hermione smiled, “You really know nothing about the War do you?”

Mihkail chuckled and leaned against the wall beside her. “Harry said the same thing last night. It was apparently a relief that I know next to nothing of why his name carries so much fame.”

Hermione laughed. Of course, it was a relief.

“Perhaps over breakfast,” she said standing. “There are a lot of things I should explain that may help you.”

Mihkail nodded and took her lead back towards the Great Hall. When they arrived, the Durmstrang side of the table was in an uproar around Viktor. Nudging him, ruffling his hair for luck and speaking so quickly that Viktor could hardly keep up. His eyes were bright, his cheeks flushed and he threw up his hands.

“ _Enough! Let me eat breakfast in peace!_ ”

They laughed and called out to Mihkail. He raised a hand in acknowledgment. Though his mind was focused on Harry and what information Hermione had to give him, he would never abandon Viktor to the whims of their schoolmates nor their Headmaster.

“Perhaps later then,” Hermione said looking up at him. “I think your champion could use his best friend and I should get back to Harry.”

Mihkail swallowed, glancing to the door, “Just one thing.”

She waited.

“Does Harry suffer from nightmares often?” Mihkail asked. “I gathered from your reaction that this was not the first time something like this has happened.”

Hermione shook her head ruefully, “If only nightmares were the only thing…”

Mihkail frowned. She shifted her weight and gazed into the distance.

“We have much to speak about, Hermione,” Mihkail assured. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Viktor? Once Kakaroff gets to him, it will be hard to get a word with him.”

Hermione chuckled and gave him a grin, “I don’t think I’ll have a problem with that.”

*

Viktor wished more than anything that Kakaroff would leave him alone. For goodness sake, he couldn’t even breathe or think without Kakaroff edging into his space. Sick of it, Viktor left the tent to get a breath of fresh air, happy to escape Fleur’s nasally French and Cedric’s nervous murmurs between him and Dumbledore.

Another Headmaster that gave Viktor the creeps.

“Viktor.”

He whirled and tensed seeing her there. She wore a bright red scarf around her neck above her pea coat and jeans. Her bushy hair fluttered a bit in the breeze as she smiled at him brilliantly.

“Couldn’t take it much more?” She asked.

He snorted, “Kakaroff is not easy to deal with. Mihkail usually there to help.”

She nodded, “Yes, I imagine so. How are you feeling? Confident?”

Viktor shrugged, edging closer to her. She took steps towards him at the same pace until Viktor came into the illusion bubble she’d erected.

The flaps to the tent flew open to reveal Kakaroff looking around frantically. Hermione took his hand gently.

“He can’t see us,” she said softly.

Viktor sighed with relief and his eyes trailed down to where she was holding his hand. It was warm despite the chill in the air. Strong yet gentle--firm and comforting. It reminded him of the way Mihkail would hold his hands sometimes when he needed a bit of reassurance.

“Are incredible,” Viktor said. “Must teach me.”

Hermione chuckled. “Anytime, perhaps on a weekend? One you can spare from Triwizard studies?”

Viktor’s lips twitched and met her eyes. She didn’t seem expectant. Her voice implied a suggestion, yet there was nothing in her manner that made him think she didn’t know he would agree.

“Would like, very much.”

“Good,” she said.

The horn blared announcing that everyone should be getting settled.

“Go on, champion,” Hermione teased. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

“You are Hogwarts.”

She shrugged, “My favorite color is red, not yellow.”

His eyes went to the scarf around her neck and he flushed. He didn’t think that he’d ever be happy to see that shade of red around anyone’s neck ever again. Bulgarian red. Vratsa Vultures red, he was sure of it even though it had none of the markings of official team paraphernalia. She winked at him and grinned as he turned and hurried quickly up the hill to enter the tent. She dissolved the illusion bubble and constricted it to simply cloaking her presence as she walked towards the entrance of the stadium.

Harry came running up the pathway, just as she expected, with Mihkail’s cloak billowing out behind him. Why Madam Pomfrey let him go, she had no idea, but she bet it had something to do with the cloak he had wrapped around him. At least he’d managed to change into something a little more fitting the weather than his pajamas and house shoes.

“Harry,” she said, eyeing his face flushed.

“Has it started?” Harry asked and quickly ducked his head at her stern look. He shuffled his feet. “I promise I-I’ll get some more rest after it’s over.”

She sighed, “Dragons?”

His eyes sparkled, “Come on, Hermione! I never knew they existed as a kid, how could I pass up seeing one in  _person!_ ”

Hermione shook her head and chuckled incredulously. It seemed that he’d picked up his Godfather's penchant for fun before practicality. Merlin, help them both. She slung an arm around his shoulder.

“If you promise, I might even be able to score you a seat close to Mihkail.”

Harry flushed bright but didn’t resist as she pulled him along into the stands. She, in fact, did get him a seat right beside the Durmstrang section. Mihkail’s eyes widened seeing them and he fought his way towards the divider.

“Harry, how are you feeling?” He asked, eyeing him.

Harry ducked his head, “I-I’m better, thank you.”

He stammered and adjusted his glasses before reaching for the fastening of the cloak. Mihkail stopped him from removing it.

“Keep it for now,” Mihkail said. “You can return it later.”

Harry smiled up at him, shy and grateful. He murmured a thank you to the elder as Mihkail’s hand trailed over his own. stepped onto the podium in order to announce the beginning of the event and the stadium went up in a circle of excited cheering.

At the appearance of the Common Green Welsh, Harry’s eyes went wide as saucers. Mihkail chuckled, leaning on the railing.

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?” Mihkail asked Harry quietly.

“It’s more,” he said and smiled up at Mihkail. “How is it that you  _live_ near dragons and aren’t more in awe? It’s beautiful.”

“She,” Mihkail said gently.

“She’s beautiful,” Harry gasped watching Fleur lull it to sleep with a charm.

Hermione listened to them chat about the dragons that were brought out. The Swedish Short Snout had been entrancing and Cedric had very nearly lost his life in the flames. Luckily, she was a bit too tired to fully roast the curly haired student.

“Will he be okay?” Harry asked looking up at Mihkail, green eyes full of worry. MIhkail took his hand and squeezed.

“He will be in time,” Mihkail assured, warm and content that Harry was looking to him for reassurance, especially so near to his crisis that morning. “A Swedish Short Snout’s fire has the potential to kill, but she was in no state to do so. Nesting dragons need time to recover their full strength.”

Harry sighed in relief and turned back. Mihkail didn’t comment on the fact that Harry gripped his hand a little tighter at the appearance of the Hungarian Horntail. Rather than awe and admiration, Harry seemed a tad frightened.

“It’s okay,” Mihkail said and glanced at Hermione who watched on. Her hands gripped the railing even though her expression was calm. She cheered as loud as the students of Durmstrang as Viktor was announced and stepped out onto the field.

“Why is… she so angry?” Harry asked, panting in terror as she blew another burst of fire and glared around the arena.

Mihkail squeezed his hand, “She has her reasons.”

It was tense. The entire arena seemed to understand that Viktor’s dragon wasn’t just the most dangerous, but the angriest and most intent on killing him. Hermione cheered with the rest of Durmstrang and the stadium.

Viktor cast the perfect charm and Mihkail let out a proud cheer. Viktor’s training in Wallachia had remained with him. The dragon turned with the hallucination, chasing it as he rounded the arena.

Mihkail held Harry’s hand and soothed him as Viktor moved quickly across the ground, barely avoiding the dragon’s fiery rage as she breathed fire at the illusions that led her away from her nest. He tumbled across the ground but climbed, quickly into the nest. She turned and screeched out him as he lifted the golden egg out of the nest and went sliding down the edge of the nest. She scurried back to her nest and glared down at him.

Mihkail froze. His eyes narrowed at the length of chain. There was a link there with a crack. The dragon turned, hissing and confused at the sound of the crowd, agitated. Mihkail flinched at her screech.

Harry covered his ears along with the rest of the stadium as Viktor hustled away from the nest.

_My egg!_

Viktor ran past the line in record time, but the dragon wasn’t interested letting him escape, nor in him truly. She turned her head and screeched, breathing fire against the barrier. It held but cracked under the force of it. It wouldn't last long if they aggrevated her any further. Mihkail turned and rushed towards the stairs.

“Mihkail?!” Harry called following him. Hermione rushed after them as the rest of the students screamed in terror.

“ _Everyone please calm down--_ ”

The screech cut off Crouch’s announcement as the taste of a broken barrier filled the stadium.

Viktor set the egg aside as Mihkail came rushing down the steps. He could hear Kakaroff screeching about Viktor, yelling at the dragon tamers to do their jobs when the chain snapped and the dragon spread its wings.

Her mouth opened all fire and rage. She intended to burn down the entire stadium with everyone in it.

“Mihkail!?” Viktor turned to look at him as Kakaroff came barreling towards them to raise his wand. Students screamed in terror and Harry watched Mihkail run out onto the ground floor from the third balcony.

“Harry, wait!” Hermione said.

“What is he doing?!” Harry asked frantically.

Mihkail watched the dragon tamers attempt to cast binding spells on her as she thrashed, yet she moved too much, too enraged, too agitated to listen to them, to hear their commands, to do anything but roar and breathe fire.

His heart thumped against his chest and that hot slash across his chest seemed to duplicate.

 _The second?_ He thought, but which--

_I won’t lose them too! Die! Die all of you! Release me!_

She took to the air and the wizard rushed towards her. Mihkail pulled his broom out, enlarged it and went flying into the air.

“Get back, kid!” Someone screamed at him, but he flew up to meet her eyes.

 _You who have betrayed me!_ She screeched and breathed fire at him. He flew around it, drawing her attention and yelling back at the dragon tamer.

“Get them out of the arena!” He tipped his broom over to fly away from her breath. She gave chase, effectively distracted as the dragon tamers attempted to get a hold of her.

_That human took my egg and you protect him?!_

He dodged another burst of flame, flying higher over Hogwarts and into the clouds where she could do no harm and no one could see him. It had been along time since he’d dueled a dragon without another dragon to help.

 _I will have your life,_ **_traitor!_ **

The Professors hurried them out of the stadium and back towards the stadium, but Harry fought the flow of students to look up to where the bursts of light and fire cut through the clouds. Hermione pulled him along and back to the castle’s balcony where he could watch without truly knowing what was going on.

The dragon tamers rallied behind Charlie who took off into the sky in the hopes to save the idiot kid and recover the dragon they were responsible for.

“I can’t get close enough!” He said, his broom going haywire with the magical storm they were producing.

Mihkail wasn’t sure if he could win. While being among his schoolmates, soothing Viktor, and chatting with Harry had done a great deal for his energy level, that, as well as food, wasn’t enough to fully replenish him.

And she was pissed off. His chest burned as he felt the second dracula claw carving its way across it.

_You must calm down!_

She screeched, unable to think clearly around her rage. Her fire had turned the clouds into a storm around them, his own magic doing no better. He blocked the next burst of flame and felt his soul grow hot and shift in him. There was a new heat filling him, a rage that wasn’t just hers but his own. A burst of golden light exploded out of the end of his wand and engulfed her.

_YIELD!_

Charlie looked up with the rest of the tamers as the flashes of light stopped. Lightning twisted through the clouds still, the wind was too harsh to fly through, but the lights had stopped.

She met his gaze, frozen in the golden prison.

 _The egg was not yours,_ he thought calmly, flying closer to lay a hand against her scales. _It was a prop._

_I am not a pawn._

_No,_ he agreed, his eyes burning. _You are not and you have every reason to be angry, but I cannot allow you to kill as a dracula of Wallachia._

He felt the rippled of shock.

_My egg… my child… My children…_

_They will not grow in cages,_ he promised her, meeting her eyes. _I swear it._

He raised his wand and whipped it around his head to collect the ambient magic. The storm cleared slowly.

 _They hurt me,_ she wept, a small pained voice now that all of her rage had bled out. _They hurt my brothers and sisters until they no longer know me…_

Mihkail eased them both back towards the ground, ignoring the dragon tamers watching in awe as he listened to her. They landed in the arena, not too far from the nest. She lay down, exhausted on the ground, breathing slowly as tears fell from her eyes.

_Will I become that way?_

Mihkail dismounted and kneeled beside her, meeting her eyes and breathing steadily. He had thought her much older due to the strength of her voice. It seemed that she was actually a dragon of Wallachia who had been captured.

It seemed that he had a great number of things to say to Romania and the dragon tamers there.

“Get back!”

Mihkail held up a hand as she startled, easing her as she kept them away.

“Where is your captain?” Mihkail asked through gritted teeth, stroking her scales slowly.

“That would be me,” Charlie said stepping forward. A tall red headed man.

“Get this collar off her,” he said gravely.

“Wha-what?” Charlie asked.

He turned and glared at Charlie, “If I have to say it again, there will be a Wallachian envoy here within the hour to say it in a way you can understand.”

He gasped and his men flinched back.

Wallachia -- a dragon tamer for the Romanian sanctuary’s worst enemy, even worse that a Wallachian was here. 

Charlie stepped forward, holding up the key, not wanting to make the situation any worse than it was.

“Give it here,” he said holding out his hand.  Charlie handed it over.

“I’ll need your paperwork on her,” Mihkail said. “As well as the Welsh Green and Swedish Short Snout. Their eggs and mates as well.”

“Well, who the hell are you to ask for that?” Charlie asked, bristling at the request. Mihkail removed the collar and revealed the ugly slowly leaking wound.  She let out a moan of pain and MIhkail stroked her scales soothingly.

 _Injured?_  Charlie thought. Was the dragon injured from the collar? How long? How deep? Questions swirled in his head. Questions that could risk his career and his boss's career. 

“Shh,” he said. “Shh.”

He turned to Charlie, “My name is Mihkail Dracula, Voivode of Wallachia and I think the Draculesti will have a good number of things to say about the state and origins of the dragons you brought here.”

When his boss had given him the chance to transport the dragons to Hogwarts and back to the sanctuary, Charlie had expected a bit of trouble. He expected a huge pay out having the Swedish Short Snout and Welsh Green be transferred with their eggs to the Romanian Sanctuary along with the Hungarian Horntail. One of her eggs had gone missing, but she was young from what he was told, there was plenty of time for her to have another brood.

He had not expected to meet an envoy of Wallachia at Hogwarts.

_Fuck me._


	10. Courting | Favors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's life is his now. 
> 
> Just like the Gryffindor Seeker position.

Harry didn’t see Mihkail again for several days. He knows that Viktor knows where he is, but is too afraid to ask after he’d seen Charlie and a few other men being led into an old classroom by a another group of official looking people. He was sure that one of them was related to Mihkail from his stature, but he had no idea what they were doing there.

Ron plopped down beside him at the banquet table and began to tear into dinner, grumbling.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“Charlie’s in trouble thanks to some Durmstranger,” Ron huffed. “Something about IWA sanctions for dragons or some rubbish. They’re magical  _beasts,_ for Merlin’s sake! Dragons kill people all the time, they shouldn't be coddled.”

Harry worried his lip as Ron went on conveying half details. Charlie couldn’t say much about it but the little that he had let Ron know to glare unforgivingly at the Durmstrang students.

He looked over to where Viktor and Draco were chatting amicably and searched the room for Mihkail. He wasn’t there. Kakaroff and Dumbledore were speaking between each other, but overall the Grand Hall was tense. He could see the Durmstrang students leaning together, whispering among themselves. He wondered what they were talking about and if they knew anything about where Mihkail was.

“Not to mention Krum beat Diggory on the first task!” Ron huffed. "I mean I love him as a Quidditch player, but there's still school pride."

Harry snorted. Viktor was best friends with someone who lived on a dragon sanctuary _of sorts_ , whatever Mihkail meant by that. He would have been surprised if Viktor hadn’t done well. Viktor bowed out of dinner when he was done and left the hall. The usual trail of girls followed him.

“Mihkail!” He cried and Harry perked up. Viktor wrapped his arms around his friend. 

Harry stood up as they chatted and walked quickly out the door. At the distance, Harry could only tell that Mihkail wasn't wearing his Durmstrang uniform, but dressed in something else. A tunic with a crest between his shoulders and trousers tucked into boots. He would have guessed dragon hide, but he wasn't sure.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to talk to someone about something,” Harry tossed over his shoulder as he headed towards Mihkail. He still had the other’s cloak up in his room, but that wasn’t the most pressing matter.

Viktor pat him on the shoulder before continuing down the hallway. Mihkail watched the gaggle of girls trail after him and turned. Harry stood there with his big green eyes behind his round glasses. 

They looked wet and worried, taking in Mihkail's frame quickly. He stepped forward and Harry glanced around nervously. Mihkail stepped back, retreating across the corridor and watching Harry follow after him, glancing around occasionally to make sure no one was paying attention.

Harry followed him into an alcove. Mihkail put up a silencing and privacy ward.

“Harry--”

The messy haired youth wrapped his arms around him tightly and squeezed.

_I was worried._

_I haven’t seen you._

_I missed you._

Mihkail didn’t need Harry to say it to understand the meaning behind the embrace. Mihkail wrapped his arms around Harry gently and pressed a kiss to his head.

“I’ve missed you too, Harry.”

Harry sniffled and buried his face in Mihkail’s chest. Mihkail sighed, relaxing as he held Harry. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed these simple moments while dealing with official IWA and Wallachian business. He’d had to call his uncle in to act as an official hand in the proceedings to get the three dragons returned to their proper homes and cared for. It had taken longer than he expected between having to change into suitable clothing and overseeing the transport of three injured nesting dragons.

“Forgive me, Harry, setting right the wrongs of the Trial took longer than I originally expected.”

Harry shook his head, trembling.He was simply glad that Mihkail was okay and the envoy hadn't been there to discuss funeral arrangements.

“Have you eaten yet?” Mihkail asked softly.

He shook his head again.

Mihkail hummed and pressed another kiss to his head, “We’ll talk all you want so long as you eat and get your homework done. I believe your chaperone would have my head if I distracted you too much.”

He clenched Mihkail’s robes and looked up at him, his eyes wet with tears, “You-you promise?”

Mihkail tilted Harry’s chin up with the edge of his hand and leaned in close, just barely grazing their lips against one another. The blush was instant and familiar.

“ _I promise._ ”

*

That weekend, Mihkail coaxed Harry onto his broom and into the air for a while before another date at the Three Broomsticks. He tethered Harry’s broom to his and coaxed the younger man onto his own broom. Whether Harry had realized it or not, he trusted Mihkail and his ability to fly. That tether was only tested once when they first ascended higher than normal. His broom jerked, but couldn’t pull away as Mihkail coaxed Harry to calm down and take control of his broom and his magic.

“You’re in control, sweet,” Mihkail said. “The broom will only do what you allow it.”

Harry had held on to the sound of Mihkail’s voice and yelled at the broom to stop it. It stopped, floating in the air as Harry panted and Mihkail nodded at him.

“Now,” he said with a devious smile, not turning around on his broom. “Hold on tight.”

Harry was sure that Mihkail’s flying abilities should have been classified as illegal. He screamed in delight and joy as Mihkail rode his broom backward and took them high into the sky, barrel rolling them over and plunging towards the ground, only to pull up at the last minute.

If this was how Viktor felt flying during the World Cup, Harry wasn’t sure if being a Quidditch Player would be for him in the end. When they were close enough to ground and Mihkail untethered them, Harry slid off his broom gratefully, panting as it hovered beside him. Mihkail kneeled in front of him.

“Are you okay?” Mihkail asked with a chuckle. “Was it a bit too much?”

Harry panted and looked up at him. “You have to teach me to fly like that one day.”

Mihkail chuckled and promised before helping the younger man to his feet. They cleaned up and walked back to the castle chatting amicably. Harry’s face was flushed with happiness as he raved about the experience and asked Mihkail how he learned to fly like that.

“It’s a Wallachian thing,” Mihkail said.

“Is that why Viktor flies the way he does?”

Mihkail shrugged, “Partially, but Viktor’s relationship with brooms isn’t at all like my relationship with flying.”

Harry frowned at the choice of words but was distracted from asking it as the arrived at the entrance to the castle where Hermione waited for them.

“Are we still good for dinner?” Mihkail asked.

“Yes, yes of course!”

Mihkail pressed a kiss to his hand and his forehead before bidding him goodbye.  Despite the millions of comments she could make about the happy little smile on his lips or the exchange in general, she said nothing. She ruffled his hair and told him that Cormac was looking for him.

Cormac had simply been looking to go flying together, but with Harry already exhausted from flying, he was satisfied with Harry promising that he was still going to come to try-outs. Dinner with Mihkail came with Rosmerta’s teasing again, more food than Harry thought anyone could eat at once, and desert. Rather than remaining in the inn, they walked to Honeydukes to introduce Mihkail to Zonko’s Joke Shop and British prank humor.

After a brief tour of the store and introduction, the trip was cut short by a very large spelled spider that shot candy webs at them telling them that the last carriages would be leaving Hogsmeade soon. They left the shop brushing off the web and laughing as Harry caught his breath.

“I take it you’ve encountered Arachnids before,”Mihkail said pulling the string from Harry’s hair.

Harry chuckled, “That was second year in the Dark Forest.”

Mihkail shook his head and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder. “I have a feeling that you have a good number of stories that would stop a weak man’s heart in that beautiful mind of yours.”

Harry chuckled nervously, but wrapped an arm around Mihkail’s waist and walked with him towards the last carriage. For once, it seemed, they hadn’t stayed out too late. Harry frowned, wondering if perhaps Mihkail had grown bored of spending time with him.

“You have try-outs tomorrow don’t you?” Mihkail asked as he helped Harry into the carriage.

Harry flushed, “Er, yes.”

Mihkail smiled and climbed into the carriage after him. “You’ll need your rest.”

Harry fiddled with his cloak, nervous. He hadn’t thought Mihkail remembered when. Harry himself had nearly forgotten.

_What if I can’t fly by myself?_

He gasped as Mihkail captured his hands in his own. Harry shuddered at the warmth of them and met his honest sky and shore eyes.

“I have faith that you will return to the air without a problem,” he said. “You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that, but as Mihakil kissed his hand and stepped back to let Harry say the password and walk through the portrait, he realized, yet again, that he still hadn’t returned Mihkail’s cloak and it was nearing the first snow!

In the morning, he dressed for Quidditch practice, grabbed his old gloves, and Mihkail’s cloak, determined to return it. The house elves of Hogwarts had been kind enough to launder it for him. He folded it neatly and tucked it into his bag.

“Morning Harry!” Hermione chirped as he came down the steps and into the Commons.

“Hi Hermione,” he said, stepping into her embrace and allowing her to set the pace they exited the Commons at.

“Today’s the day, yeah?” Hermione asked. “How are you feeling?”

Harry beamed at her. “I feel good. I think I’ll be okay.”

Hermione chuckled at that and squeezed him tight. He’d been sleeping more soundly, through the night and restful since Mihkail had all but given him his cloak. She’d warned Mihkail that Harry was trying to return it to him and would at the first chance and that wouldn’t change even if she pointed out how much sleep the other got since having it.

Mihkail had only winked and told her not to worry about it. He had a plan.

“Harry!” Cormac called, dressed for practice and in as bright a mood as usual. “Thank goodness!”

Harry laughed and sat down across from him. Hermione meandered down the table to sit with Angelique ho looked down the row as Harry and Cormac began to speak quickly and eat.

“Laying it on thick isn’t he?” Angelique asked with a chuckled.

Hermione shrugged, “Cormac will need it with Harry’s suitor around.”

Her eyes widened and she leaned towards her. “Dominant to dominant Mia, black girl to black girl, _spill._ ”

The sound of owl wings distracted them. Harry didn’t look up, not expected anything even as Cormac lifted his arms to catch a small envelope. Harry reached across the table to reach for a leg of chicken when a large owl landed in the center of the table and hooted at him.

He looked up as the owl fluffed up his feathers and extended his leg. He didn’t recognize it. All dark feathers and much larger than any owl he’d ever seen. Its eyes stared at him meaningfully.

_Hoot._

Harry frowned. Hedwig landed beside it and hooted at him encouragingly. He reached out to remove the parcel and letter attached to it. He offered the owl and Hedwig rations of meat and stroked their feathers before they flew off together.

Apparently, Hedwig had made a foreign friend.

The small box was attached to a letter and he was a little wary about opening it. Given that the war was over, it was possible that it was just a well-wish from someone, but he’d learned the last time that he was better safe than sorry since Sirius had been exonerated but not forgiven in the minds of Britain nor Dumbledore. Hermione appeared behind him and tapped her wand on the parcel. She made a few movements before declaring it safe to open before returning to her seat beside Angelique.

“ _Spill,_ ” Angelique urged. Hermione held up a hand watching him along with Cormac.

Relieved, Harry opened the letter and could have flushed as he recognized the handwriting.

_Dear Harry,_

_I would have given this to you in person, but it seemed more discrete and appropriate to your social situation to send it by owl. In the box is a Fae’s Kiss, something far more powerful than a muggle dreamcatcher. It has served me well to keep my monsters at bay and I have no doubt that it will serve you just as well._

_Don’t worry about me. It is far easier for me to acquire one since they are native to Wallachia. I had it mounted to a goblin-made chain. It won’t break or tarnish. You can wear it as a bracelet or a necklace and it won’t ever be used to harm you._

_I hope it helps you sleep peacefully._

_Yours,_

_Mihkail_

Hermione smiled watching Harry open the box to look at the shining jewel fitted on a gentle goblin gold chain. Cormac’s eyes widened, flickering between Harry’s happy expression and Hermione’s smile.

At first touch, he smelled something warm and familiar, his body relaxed and the world seemed less heavy. He frowned and flushed when he realized that he recognized the scent. It smelled like Mihkail, perhaps wafting off the letter or an effect of the jewel itself.

Cormac watched Harry’s entire demeanor changed, a high strung energy relaxed gently. A small smile and a light flush on his cheeks. He was dying to know who the gift was from, Hermione hadn’t mentioned that anyone else was attempting to court Harry. The question burned his lips, but he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt Harry’s moment of wonder as he marveled at the small gold encased jewel that glowed a kaleidoscope of colors as he held it.

Hermione glanced over to the Slytherin table where Mihkail sat with Viktor laughing loud and joyous. She caught his eye and gave him a brief nod. His bright eyes flitted to Harry for a moment and he gave a smile before turning back to his conversation with no one the wiser.

Harry set the gem and chain back in the box carefully and sighed in contentment. The moment was broken when Ron flopped on the bench beside him and leaned towards him to look at the letter.

“Adoring fan?” Ron asked slyly.

Harry shut his mouth, pulling the letter closer to his chest.

“An  _admirer?_ ” Ron teased. “Someone begging you to take them to the Yule Ball? Lucky!”

Harry frowned, confused, but he didn’t ask about it. Today’s main task was to get through try-outs and not freak out. He folded the letter back into its envelope and stored it and the box in his bag. With the items away, he picked up his fork and the conversation. Ron steered it towards trying out as Keeper and taking Cormac’s seat next year on the team.

Cormac snorted, “By all means, you can be Keeper _after_ I graduate.”

He flushed and while they bickered, Harry stared across the room at Mihkail until the older student met his eyes.

 _Thank you,_ Harry’s mouth red and Mihkail winked at him, enjoying the way Harry blushed and ducked his head to eat. Cormac all but dragged him out of the Great Hall when he was finished and off to the pitch with the rest of the Gryffindor team. They cheered and hugged him tightly, whispering how much they preferred him over the new Seeker. The girl in question only glared at him as Cormac remained by his side.

The new captain, a sixth year that he’d never met before, Boris ,shook his hand and promised not to go easy on him.

“Get dressed and put your stuff away before the new try-outs show up.”

Harry went into the locker room and smiled wistfully at the door of his old locker. It still had his name on it and he ran his hand over the magically etched letters.

“Welcome back, Harry,” Angelique said, patting his shoulder.

“Thanks, Angel’,” he said and took a seat. He opened it and found that they’d been keeping it clean for him. It made his eyes burn as he slid his bag in and worried his lip. He opened the little box and drew the chain out to put it around his neck. Not that he was frightened of it going missing, but it made his heart calm down and his shoulder relax.

He’d have to ask what exactly a Fae’s Kiss was. Harry pulled on his old gloves, worn with age and use before shutting his locker and following everyone out onto the pitch where their captain had already pulled out the supplies.

“Welcome!” he greeted. “We’ve got a special treat today for our try-outs and team practice. A few Durmstrang students are joining us!”

Harry’s eyes widened and looked towards the group, most he recognized from Mihkail’s friends group. Viktor wasn’t there but the Wallachian was. Their eyes met and he winked at him. Harry laughed nervously and let out a sigh of relief.

He's there dressed for the sport with a few other Durmstrang students. It would be Harry’s first solo flight in practice since Mihkail started easing him back onto the broom. He was terrified really, but seeing Mihkail’s familiar figure there made his stomach ease. If nothing else, Mihkail could get him off his broom and onto the ground safely.

“We did not bring Viktor,” one of them said. “Have learned he does not play fair.”

“Not better to bring Mihkail.”

They chuckled at that and Mihkail snorted.

Angelique frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Means is not fair to have professional on novice pitch.”

“Wallachian either.”

They laughed and Mihkail elbowed the student who’d been speaking. Boris, if Harry remembered, was Durmstrang’s Quidditch Team captain. Harry chuckled at that but was ever thankful that the captain this year agreed to let the Durmstrang students in on their practice and try-outs.

Harry mounted his broom to fly the warm up drill. He took a deep breath and made himself relax like the first time he was on a broom, before the War, before everything. Letting the world fade away, he kicked off the ground gently and felt himself hover. His heart rate climbed but his mind stayed clear, Mihkail’s coaching voice in his ear.

_Breathe, Harry. You must trust the broom. You must trust yourself._

He opened his eyes to find himself high above the pitch, his body at ease and he turned his eyes towards the air before him before setting his broom to fly forward. A steady pace before picking up speed. Soon enough, he zipped through the air, feeling closer to his father more than anything as he did so. He laughed relieve and incredulously, testing gravity and his speed. Cormac passed him with a grin.

“Come on then, Harry. You'll never catch a snitch at that pace!”

He grinned and urged his broom to fly faster, maybe faster than was safe, but it was exhilarating to pass by Cormac laughing high into wind until he reached the end of the path. His heart light and perhaps the terror that haunted him on his broom was gone maybe. Even if it wasn't for good, it was perfect for the moment.

Mihkail smiled watching Harry fly with a nod. He didn’t know what Harry flew like before, but it seemed that his tutelage had helped a great deal. He was relaxed in the air, conscious of his power over the broom and the boundless freedom of the sky. At this rate, he’d be flying at Seeker speeds again in no time.

“Your flying has improved, Harry,” their captain said. “Keep this up and you'll be a nearly unstoppable when the season resumes.”

Harry ducked his head at the praise, shying away from the attention, but it’s enough to put a glint in Cormac’s eye even as it slid over to the Durmstrang student with piercing blue-hazel eyes who seemed to be watching Harry intently.

The student was large, taller and broader than Cormac was, yet he walked and moved with an athlete’s grace. He wore so little in the Scottish winter air that Cormac didn’t understand how he wasn’t shivering. It didn’t help that he was stupidly handsome.

When it came time for the Seeker’s challenge, Harry was far more steady. He cheered for Harry, pleading with him not to fall behind. The task was simple: a snitch would be released and the first one to catch it would score the spot on the team.

Harry’s replacement was fast in the air, faster than what Harry had shown so far, but Harry had experience on her.

Harry mounted his broom and spared a nervous glance to where Mihkail and Cormac were standing.

“Don’t upset the balance, Harry,” Cormac yelled to him. “ _Please?_ ”

Mihkail nodded at him, “Fly like you have wings.”

Harry tilted his head at the phrase but turned back to their captain with a small smile. Fly like he had wings, like Mihkail did, like a dragon. Confident and assured as if he were made for it.

It was in his blood, there was no denying that. He pressed a hand to his chest and begged his heart to calm down beneath the coolness of the gem.  Their captain released the snitch and Harry followed its path through the air.

“On your mark,” he said. “Get set. Go!”

Hermione watched from the stands as the two figures took off into the air. She pressed her hands together in the cold breeze and watched Harry race through the sky after the snitch. The girl was fast, but she didn’t have the maneuvering skill that Harry did. It would be close so long as Harry was holding back.

The wind was howling around him and his hands tightened around the shaft of his broom. His heart raced.

_Too fast._

Harry pushed the thought away, changing direction.

_Too fast! I’ll fall! I’ll crash! They’ll killme._

_Like Hagrid._

_Hagrid?_

_Hagrid!?_

_He’s there. They’re there. Everywhere. Can’t escape. Can’t stop it. Can’t-- Can’t--_

Mihkail felt the pulse of panic as he watched. The Quidditch team watched with bated breath watching the two figures race. Harry was faster in their memory, much faster, freer in the air. It shouldn’t have been a contest, yet he was obviously struggling.

“Come on Harry!” Angelique yelled into the sky as the girl cut him off and sent him tumbling.

Harry shut his eyes, crying out.

 _Come on, sweetheart,_ Mihkail thought, gripping his broom and praying that he wouldn’t have to save Harry. Harry was stronger than his demons. Stronger than he even know, he’d felt it from the first time he’d met Harry. He was not a man to be defeated, always rising from the ashes of his failures.

 _Just calm down, sweet,_ he pleaded, wishing that Harry could hear his thoughts.

Harry couldn’t breathe and he felt that old trepidation that came right before his broom went haywire. He grit his teeth and urged the broom forward. It jerked.

_Harry Potter--_

_Useless, boy--_

“No!” Harry yelled, urging the broom forward and barrel rolling into a dive after the snitch.

The demons were screaming behind him, but he could out fly them. The snitch. He was looking for the snitch. He’d gotten on the broom. He wouldn’t give up flying again.

Not for the Dursleys.

Not for a dead man.

Not for anything. The life he had ahead of him was his now. No more cowering from a man that hated him because his wife hated him. No more wondering if he would survive the school year.

No more of his life being in anyone else’s hands.

“Mine!” Harry yelled, zigzagging in front of her to snatch it out of the air with a huff. It feels more vicious than he means it, but he raised it over his head in triumph, staring into the light that reflected off of it.

Mihkail cheered with Cormac seeing Harry raising the snitch above his head, his shoulder heaving as his broom floated to the ground. The rest of the team clapped and yelled for Harry’s victory. He landed but he couldn’t support himself on wobbly legs. Cormac was at his side in second, hugging him tightly.

“You scared me! Are you alright? Did you overdo it?”

“I caught it,” Harry panted, surprised and looked up at Cormac with tears in his eyes. “I _caught_ it.”

Cormac gave him a hopeless mile and pulled him closer. “You did. I”m so proud of you, Harry.”

Harry hugged Cormac back before Angelique and several other upperclassmen came over to hug him. When they released him he looked over to the girl who looked more frustrated than anything.

“Harry’s first string again,” Angelique said. “Thank goodness.”

He looked over to Mihkail who grinned at him.

 _You’re gorgeous,_ his lips said and Harry turned away flushed, back to the circle of his teammate.

“You’d better come to practice,” Cormac said.

Harry nodded, promising to do so. They went back to flying drills and played a brief game against the Durmstrang team. Mihkail played Keeper in opposition to Cormac. Harry found it odd. He would have thought for sure that they would have made him Seeker.

“Would be cheating,” Boris said seeing Harry’s confusion. “Mihkail not wish to battle you.”

The Gryffindor team won simply because Harry caught the snitch before they’d scored more than 150 points. Cormac was good, but their team had Chasers that were heading into professional playing and Mihkail seemed to be covering all three goals effortlessly despite the Gryffindor team’s skills.

When practice was over, Harry rushed through changing to catch Mihkail. He thrust his cloak out to him while looking at his shoes. Cormac watched Harry catch the older’s attention and give him his cloak. The Durmstrang student tilted Harry’s head up by his chin and said something that Cormac couldn’t hear, but Harry’s reaction to the touch confirmed his suspicions.

Harry was a submissive.

Cormac wasn’t surprised, but the sight of the Durmstrang studneet kissing his hand and garnering such a look of _joy_ from Harry burned him.  That just wouldn’t do, especially if that student had his sights set on Harry when Cormac had been eyeing the other for years. He was probably the one that had given Harry the charm that morning. KNowing that, Cormac didn’t have much time to make his move and get Harry to realize that he was interested.

_But what to--_

Cormac thought of Harry’s gloves. He’d had them since his first year. They’d been a newer pair from the school’s equipment stores and they were barely hanging on at the seams, maybe one harsh practice away from unraveling.

He found the ones he wanted the morning before practice and somehow kept focused enough throughout it to wait until the end for this moment. Remembering how much he’d debated about wrapping them, or something, he was glad that he didn’t. He didn’t want to spook Harry or have the gift rejected on the basis of not wanting to court him. It was a gift that meant exactly what it was: something that Harry needed and Cormac wanted to provide.

“Here,” Cormac said from above him as Harry packed his satchel from Quidditch practice. He looked up at Cormac who smiled charmingly down at him holding out a pair of gloves.

“Er…”

“Your gloves are on their way out, aren’t they?” Cormac asked. “Can’t have our Seeker flying with fall-apart gloves.”

Harry licked his lips, “Uhm, thank you, Cormac. That’s rather nice of you.”

Cormac gave him a smile that Harry couldn’t understand. It was indulgent, tender, he thought as Cormac placed the gloves in Harry’s hands so their hands brushed against one another. Harry’s face flushed almost instantaneously, a jolt of magic passing between them as Cormac turned and look back at him over a shoulder.

“I’ll walk you back to Gryffindor when you’re ready. Can’t have you out alone at night.”

He left the locker room then and Harry was oddly alone. The fact that Cormac was in fact waiting for him was a little startling and nerve-wracking all at once. When they arrived at the Common Room, he went to sit with Hermione by the fire as Cormac walked up the stairs to his room.

“Hello Harry,” Hermione greeted. “What’s wrong?”

“Cormac gave me gloves.”

“Are they good?”

Harry hadn’t even looked at them, taking them out and smiling softly. They were a different brand than his old ones. They were of a better quality with stronger spells and better grips. Ron had recognized the insignia on the palms and told him that they were heavily endorsed by Seekers in the IQL. Harry only really cared that they were the right size.

How had Cormac known his glove size?

“Y-Yeah.”

“Good,” she said. “Do you like them?”

He slipped them on, gripping his hand and nodded.

“Good. So what’s the problem?”

“It kind of made me feel,” he paused. “Weird.”

“Weird like when you go out with Mihkail?”

He flushed, “Yeah.”

Hermione nodded, “Well, don’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

Harry gawked at her, “What was that--”

“Harry!” Ron called moving to take a seat beside him before sneering at Hermione who’d returned to reading her book. “How was practice?”

“It was good, I think. Still finding it hard to get used to the broom again, but I’ll be okay.”

Hermione felt her heart tremble at the words coming from his mouth. Yes, he would be okay. She knew he would be, but it was such a relief to hear him believe it too.

“How was detention?” Harry asked.

Ron groaned, “The worst.”

Hermione didn’t bother keeping the smile off her face as Ron relayed peeling slugs for Snape for hours. It served him right for that comment he'd made to a younger female student, a clearly submissive girl who was having an incredibly rough day. He should have been ashamed of himself. Hermione had had to walk the girl to the infirmary she was in such a bad state and Severus had torn into Ron with no mercy. Gryffindor had been docked quite a few points because of Ron’s lack of tact.

“I mean what was the big deal. Everyone knows what I said was true.”

Hermione sighed and shook her head. Ron was digging himself into a grave faster than her knew. WIth the IWA reforms coming down the pipeline, Harry’s dynamic, and the War just ended, his backwards, very British way of thinking was going to get him in trouble.

She hoped that it was after his birthday and Mihkail was around when it happened. She winced at the thought. It was probably not nice to relish the idea of Ron getting socked in the face by someone who could do serious damage, but it did make her feel better about being in his presence at the moment.


	11. A Sheep In Wolf's Clothing

The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary was a particularly upset with Wallachia, but Mihkail couldn’t give a damn. Sirena, the Hungarian Horntail, would live her life in the mountains with her brood where she was meant to be. They were working on getting a full investigation done on the Romanian sanctuary. 

Mihkail smirked looking across the courtyard to where Viktor and Draco were sitting, laughing at some story that Viktor was telling about his fans. They looked happy, really happy, relaxed and Mihkail nodded. It was good to see them relaxed for a change, good to see a bit of color in Viktor’s face too. He glanced over to where Hermione sat in the alcove, reading and walked towards her. 

“Hello, Hermione.”

“Hello,” she greeted with a smile. “Enjoying the view?”

“It’s good to see him relaxed.”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Them both.”

Mihkail nodded.

“Are you going to ask Harry to the Ball?”

Mihkail smirked, “Yes, but he will not come with me.”

Hermione smirked, that was true, but only because Cormac was already in the process of asking Harry to come with him. Cormac had come to her days ago to ask for pointers on how to ask Harry without freaking him out and who to contact. Hermione applauded him for the move and almost hoped that Mihkail didn’t get around to asking Harry first.

Mihkail had been too busy weaseling his way into Harry’s mind and taking care of Viktor to do the same. Mihkail knew that Harry, while feeling some affection for him, would need time to figure out his feelings for Mihkail. He was new, unchartered territory. Though his heart was upset at the thought of not having proved himself, his head understood that Harry needed time.

“I have seen a blonde haired student with him,” he said. “Older than Harry. He will ask him first, won't he?”

“Yes.”

Mihkail nodded, “As I thought. Viktor wishes to ask you.”

Hermione smirked, “I know.”

_ * _

_ “Hermione?” _

She looked up at Viktor as he came up to her with an arm offered. She was stunned first that he'd managed to say her name properly. She wondered how much he’d practiced with Mihkail to do so. It was endearing to know he tried so hard. After spending so much time in the library together talking about school, work and so many other things, it was pleasantly surprising that he was still trying so hard. 

“Hello.”

“Will you walk with me?”

She nodded and stood to link arms with him and lead him outside. He probably didn't realize that he matched her steps, walking comfortably at her lead, but it makes them both smile. She walked them to the lake where no one can hear them and beyond the sights of people at the castle before stopping.

“I think that’s far enough,” she said and turned to look up at him.

“Have wanted to ask about Ball.”

He smiled and tugged a flower from his robe and kneeled to offer it to her. It’s a beautifully white flower, curled in on itself, and not quite bloomed. She recognized it from a book on Bulgarian gender-based courting culture. 

“Will you come to the Ball with me?”

Hermione smiled and moved to stand before him, reaching out to stroke his cheek gently and lift his face with just her fingertips gently curved around his jaw. Viktor’s heart stutters and beats faster in his chest, so hard that he can hear it. Her eyes are dark above him, searching his and he feels so vulnerable kneeling before her as though this had become more than he first intended.

“Will you allow me to escort you?”

He flinched at the question and his breath grew short. Her fingers traced his jawline and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. Her warm brown hands are so gentle on his face, across his scalp, a caress that he could feel in his chest.

“It would be my honor,” she told him.

“I,”he swallowed. “Th-the book?”

“A courting gesture of course and the trail mix.”

“H-how?”

“I've watched you,” she said. “I've talked to you.”

He swallowed.

“Not at you.”

Viktor looked down for a moment, but she tipped his head back up to meet her eyes.

“Shh,” she soothed. “You don't have to answer now.”

“We can't-- No one can know.”

“I know,” she said. “And I'd never force you to reveal it either. I'm just asking for a chance to be good to you.”

Viktor swallowed and nodded slowly. She smiled as she bent at the waist to press a kiss to between his eyebrows. He let out a breath and seemed to slump in relief against her for a moment. She wondered how long it had been since he’d indulged in such a simple thing., not necessarily kneeling but leaning on someone else’s strength.

“When you're ready, stand up.”

Viktor shuddered and looked up, slowly rising to his feet to meet her eyes.

“Think you can find a way to put it in my hair?”

Viktor nodded slowly, smiling at her observance of the old tradition. It wasn't a submissive-dominant tradition but a male-female custom of Bulgaria. It was the safest thing to do given his actual dynamic. He stepped behind her and set the blooming rose behind her ear before murmuring a quiet spell and watching the vine grow and twist into a thick twist along the side of her head and around the back.

It beautiful and as expected, the white rose bloomed a brilliant red. They linked arms again and headed back towards the castle where Mihkail and several other members of Durmstrang, Viktor’s closest friends, received them with loud cheers. For a moment, Hermione caught Mihkail’s eye and gave him a wicked grin. 

He nodded in approval.

_ Clever girl, _ he thought. He couldn’t wait to hear what the Lord Krum would have to say about it.

_ * _

_ Dear Lord Krum,  _

Usually, when Vasilka Krum received letters like this, it was was for business, sometimes it was for members of her house, but unless it was from Karkaroff with his usual plea to accept his daughter as Viktor’s betrothed, she didn’t get many letters with Viktor as the subject that started off this way. 

Even Sergei, simply called her “Baba Krum”.

_ My name is Hermione Granger. I am a dominant from England and would like to ask for your blessing to escort your grandson, Viktor, to the Yule Ball at the end of December. I have asked Viktor and he seems agreeable, but it would be rude of me to do so without the blessing of his guardian.  _

_ As is customary, I have included my wizarding registration information. Please reply at your convenience.  _

_ Sincerely,  _

_ Hermione Granger _

She sat down to contemplate the letter, not even bothering to open the wizarding registration envelope, intrigued. For one, a dominant asking for the chance to escort Viktor was interesting and considering that she did in fact know of Hermione Granger from Mihkail and Viktor’s letters, made it even more interesting. 

The very strict observation of Bulgarian customs, the formality of the letter, and the fact that she had spoken to Viktor first meant that the girl was serious, knew Viktor well, respected him, and did her homework. She set the letter aside to open Viktor’s letter with a smile. 

Even his writing seemed to have grown brighter since the new school year had started. There was just a glimmer of happiness in the words as he spoke about the dragon task, about the book Hermione bought for him, about Mihkail, about Draco, about Hermione, about the Yule Ball and Hermione… about Hermione. 

She smiled and set it aside, realizing that, more than likely, Hermione didn’t tell Viktor that she was going to ask for Vasilka’s blessing. It made even more sense because Viktor had probably never considered the thought of anyone wanting to declare their intentions towards him either. 

She opened the registration information with a smirk. IWA sealed and official, stamped. Her general information was first, then a full resume. Vasilka nodded at the pages in approval, more than intrigued. 

Hermione had at the least deduced that Viktor was her favorite grandson, the one she was most protective of and did all the leg work towards making her decision easy. She used IWA references that Vasilka could easily call upon to verify. 

_ Smart. _

_ * _

Mihkail grinned seeing Viktor in much better spirits than earlier. He sat at the table, relaxed and dazedly watching the activity at the Gryffindor table. The Bulgarian red flower in Hermione’s hair was stunning and drawing attention as she read the letter in her hand. She looked up at Mihkail and grinned. He nodded and sauntered over to Viktor and took a seat.

“You're drooling.”

“What?” he asked, clearly distracted and staring off into space.

“Viktor Granger has a rather nice name to it.”

Mihkail resolved to look distracted as Draco came to sit with them and Viktor’s face began to imitate the flower in Hermione’s hair.

“What’s wrong?” Mihkail asked noting Draco’s expression.

It was dark and gloomy, more angry than usual. Since he wasn't glaring towards the Gryffindor table, Mihkail and Viktor knew it wasn't about academics.

“The Ball?” Mihkail asked.

Draco growled, gripping his silverware. Viktor looked at him and nudged him. 

“Relax,” he said. “It’s not good to be so upset.”

Draco huffed and slumped over the table. Viktor’s German was as soothing as ever. His large hand rubbing over Draco’s back in comfort. 

“It’ll be okay.”

“No,” Draco said. “No it won’t. I don’t want to have an pureblood airhead practically stapled to my side all night.”

Mihkail chuckled at that and waved at someone who called out to him. 

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad.”

“ _ Betrothal _ bad,” Draco said. “The Greengrasses are the type to take an event llike this as practical matrimony.”

Mihkail winced at that, “I’m sorry. The English are very strange.”

Draco glared at Mihkail, “Who are you going with anyway?”

Viktor flushed and Mihkail grinned, “Not a pureblood airhead.”

Draco decided that the most mature thing to do would be to pelt Mihkail with a pea. He missed thanks to Mihkail quick reflexes, but it had made him feel a bit better. 

“How about we go flying?” Viktor asked. “That should make you feel better.”

Draco’s eyes lit up and he seemed to perk up a bit, “You’ll teach me something today?”

Viktor chuckled, “Sure, so long as you look less blue.”

Mihkail shook his head and watched, amused at the two of them. He glanced over to Hermione who gave them a similarly amused look and lifted his eyebrows expectantly. Hermione shrugged and went back to reading her letter. Harry meandered in with Seamus and Ron, laughing loud and carefree before hustling to steal the last spot beside Hermione and across from Neville. 

“Hi Hermione!”

“Hello Harry,” she said. “How was class?”

“Brilliant!”

His eyes sparkled as he loaded his plate with food and talked about how he’d kept Seamus from blowing up their station. Professor Flitwick seemed almost  _ impressed _ that they’d gone an entire class without any accidents and gave them ten points of Gryffindor.

“With enough streaks like that, you might be able to erase all the trouble Ron seems to be getting into as of late.”

Harry frowned and looked over to Ron who stabbed his roast beef viciously. 

“What happened?” He asked.

Ron rolled his eyes, “Nothing. McGonagall was just being  _ Mc-Go-nag-all. _ ”

“Is it true we have that house meeting?” Seamus asked. 

“‘Fraid so,” Dean said. “Upperclassmen have confirmed.”

Hermione shook her head at the terror that seemed to lace the conversation and looked to Cormac who seemed to be buried so deep into his book with nerves that he didn’t spare Harry a glance.

Ron looked up at Hermione, “How come you weren’t in ccass anyway? Would have thought that you didn’t skip class ever.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Well Ron you would be correct. I don’t skip class.  It helps that I am also not  _ in  _ your Potions class.”

He frowned, “You’ve been there all this time.”

“As an understudy,” she said sweetly. “I’m also an understudy for three other professors”

His jaw dropped,, “But you’re just a fourth year!”

Harry chuckled,  “Yeah, but she’s also  _ Hermione. _ ”

He flushed red as Hermione folded her letter up and stood. 

“Have a good lunch.” She ruffled Harry’s hair and was off, throwing a glance towards Viktor who watched her go. She winked at him and walked off to make it to Madame Sprout’s greenhouse classroom.

*

After casting the Safety charm on the stacks of mail he received, Sirius only ever opened the letters. He didn’t pay attention to the crests, the people sending it or anything else. QUite often there were people who sent him important messages that if he knew they sent them he would have burned the pages. Those were usually from the British Ministry of Magic.

Aside from Harry, Remus, Minerva, and Hermione’s letters, all other mail was put together in a pile to be tested and gone through at his leisure. Since returning to England, he’d learned that the opening line, the greeting really, told him most of what he needed to know about the contents. 

_ Dear Lord Black, _

Sirius groaned and set the letter aside to open the next one. Kreacher shuffled by behind him. Dobby and Winky appeared with more mail and he sighed again. 

“There has to be an easier way to get through all of these…”

“I’m sorry, Master Sirius.” Dobby said, offering two letters. “These are from Master Harry and Miss Hermione.”’

Sirius took them gratefully and thanked the elf. 

_ Dear Lord Black, _

He hung his head and set them aside. He was hoping to find a letter that didn’t start off with his title. Those usually involved a few things: Dumbledore, the Black Fortune, Harry, the Potter Estate, or something else he didn’t want to think about. He found quickly that all the mail he’d had left to open was addressed in the same manner. He decided to forgo work to read Harry and Hermione’s letters first. 

Harry’s shocked him. Not for it’s contents, but its tone. He’d made the Quidditch Team as Seeker yet again. School was going well and--

_ I think perhaps I might be being courted?  _

His eyebrows lifted and he sat up reading closely. No one was supposed to really know Harry’s dynamic except for Hermione and himself. A dominant that would have been able to tell in Britain that would be at least two or three years older than Harry. To be honest, Sirius was terrified of the time at which Harry turned fifteen, almost as much as he feared him turning seventeen. Harry had barely survived the last three years with the little sanity he’d managed to hold together. He still wasn’t entirely sure what horrors his godson had been subjected to at the hands of his muggle relatives, but it made his blood boil to imagine. 

No one would hurt Harry again if he had anything to say about it.  _ Courting _ Harry was a problem for him in general. A tricky game given Harry’s state and the immeasurable number of potential triggers he had. 

_ By two people. _

Sirius snorted and looked over to the photo he had of Lily and James. It seemed that he took after Lily in more ways than his dynamic, kind heart, and his green eyes.

_ I’m not entirely sure, but from what Hermione has explained to me and what I’ve read I think that’s right. Please don’t be mad, it just sort of happened and I’m not really sure what to do. There’s a lot happening at school right now, really fast . I don’t think it’s really caught up with me that I’m still alive. _

Sirius worried his lip and tried to quell the roil of nausea in his stomach. He knew all too well how close Harry had come to not making it to fourteen and what a miracle it would be to actually have a chance to celebrate his godson’s birthday with him for years to come. 

_ There’s Cormac McLaggen, the Keeper for Gryffindor. He gave me flying gloves. They’re really nice, but he’s also been really nice to me. You remember him? I told you about him.  _

_ Then, there’s Mihkail.  I don’t actually know what his last name is but he’s from Wallachia and he goes to Durmstrang. I think he’s graduating this year. He’s best friend with Viktor Krum. He kind of saved me, I guess. I was having a really rough week and I couldn’t sleep. Nightmares, flashbacks, you know the normal. (PLEASE DON’T BE MAD AND DON’T TELL HERMIONE? She’ll worry and hover and I know she’s busy).  _

_ Anyway, he did some type of emergency aftercare and everything felt warm. It was insane, but more than that we sort of went on a date I guess. Well two, maybe three. We went to Hogsmeade and had a great time. _

_ He’s really nice and it’s kind of making me feel weird. Not bad weird, not bad at all, just weird. That class in France didn’t really explain any of the things he’s doing. He kisses my hand and he gave me a Fae’s Kiss. Do you have any idea what that is? _

Sirius let out a bark of a laugh. Amazed and proud. His godson was apparently just as alluring as he knew he would be and the two that were courting his godson with all the respect he deserved. He couldn’t wait to hear what Hermione had to say about the two of them. 

_ I saw dragons! Real dragons, Sirius. Not like a baby one either, but full grown dragons. There was an incident and the Hungarian Horntail got loose, but it turned out okay. Mihkail stepped in. He said something about Wallachian and Romanian issues, but he’s safe. I think I might like him, I guess? But then there’s Cormac who I’ve known a lot longer and we’re already close. I don’t know. He helped me fly, Sirius. I’m not sure how to feel about it all. Any guidance or explanations would be nice.  _

_ Anyway, how is Kreacher? Dobby? Winky? How are you? Are you eating well? Have you actually started responding to the letters from the Ministry? Is everything okay with the IWA? _

_ Love,  _

_ Harry _

_ P.S. What’s the Yule Ball? _

Sirius sat back with a wince. That’s what those dress robes were for. Luckily, he’d had Harry’s made in France. He still didn’t trust Britain to be good to his godson, or be honest about anything really. Besides, French robes were always better. He wondered where Hermione was getting her gown from. He set Harry’s letter aside and opened Hermione’s before taking a sip of his tea.

_ Dear Sirius,  _

_ Hello. I hope you’re actually reading your IWA post these days and eating more meals than just sweets. Harry is doing a great deal better. I have a feeling that has a lot to do with getting some very much needed attention from a very handsome dominant from Wallachia. You should see them together. Harry’s so flustered and Mihkail is chivalrous to a fault.  _

_ Voivode of Wallachia, what could only expect other than chivalry? _

Sirius choked, sputtering as the tea went down the wrong pipe. The  _ Voivode of Wallachia _ was courting his godson. Sweet Merlin, what was in Lily’s genes?

_ Shocked? Who knew he was so young. Handsome too. I think Harry may have a type. In any case, I have been, more or less, supervising their dates and Mihkail has proven himself to be just as honorable as his title suggests, perhaps more. Harry is happy, really happy. If you could see him, you’d probably cry.  If his cloak wasn’t good, the Fae’s Kiss has kept Harry nightmare and flashback free since Mihkail gave it to him. You wouldn’t happen to have any books on it would you? _

_ I’m sure Harry has told you about the dragon incident. Everyone is okay, so don’t worry. I think Harry may have feelings for Mihkail. There’s Cormac of course who is going to ask Harry to the Ball. Be prepared for letters from them both with all the information you need to make the decision to leave it in Harry’s hands.  _

_ As for me, I’ve been granted the privilege of courting Lord Krum’s grandson. Congratulate me.  _

_ Answer your mail, Sirius. There are people in the IWA HQ who are freaking out because you haven’t. They think that they’ve offended you and Harry. Do it before Harry starts getting random baskets of goodies which you know makes him nervous. _

_ Love,  _

_ Hermione _

Sirius set the letter aside with a chuckle. How had it only been a few months and both of them seemed to have grown up enough to be scolding him? Sirius took the time to sort through his mail, looking for IWA seals and seals he didn’t readily recognize. He found Cormac’s easily. The Irish seal was easily recognizable. Finding Mihkail’s was harder than he anticipated. He found the paperwork from Wallachia and from IWA on his behalf, but Mihkail’s personal letter was almost non-descript. It made no mention of his status, just his age and his intentions towards Harry. Sirius could practically hear the other’s upbringing in the misty mountains and leader of a people in his writing and the curve of his letters. 

Cormac had all the honesty and earnestness of an Irish man Sirius was hard pressed to find anything wrong with either of their accompanying paperwork. Mihkail was a political figure in the IWA all on his own and more than likely knew next to nothing about Harry’s reputation. Cormac was applying to be a Curse Breaker with the Rasuns of Kemet. 

Harry had two exceptional choices. He wrote his reply to the two suitors first, then to Hermione before starting work on the rest of the letters. When he was finished he looked at James and Lily’s smiling faces in the frame on his desk. 

“He takes after you Lil’, pulling the best possible. I’ll have to keep a close eye on him.”

*

Harry was pretty sure that he wasn’t supposed to be this awkward at dancing. For goodness sake, he had coordination. Holding Padma’s hand and trying to waltz with her made him clumsy though. Why couldn’t McGonagall put him and Hermione together? At least it wouldn’t have been awkward and quickly making him feel queasy. When it was over and he’d managed to only step on her feet once, Harry escaped the room.

“Harry! Wait up,” Cormac said, chasing after him. “You alright?”

Harry’s lips twitched and he flexed his hands. “Just not used to a lot of people touching me.”

“Mmm, guess that means you don’t have a date to the ball then?”

Harry shook his head and froze. “A-Am I supposed to? Do I have to?”

“Well, no,” Cormac assured, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Are you going?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” Harry said, worrying his lip. “Sirius bought me robes, but I have no idea what wizarding dances are like. I’ve never been to any kind of dance before.”

Cormac’s jaw dropped and he shook his head, “That just won’t do. Come with me?”

He looked up at Cormac.

“I mean, I don’t have a date and it’s better to go to friends for something like this if you didn’t have someone specifically in mind, right?”

“Erm,” Harry started, but smiled and nodded. “Okay. It sounds like fun.”

“Great,” Cormac said. “I’ll meet you in your room and we’ll go down together, sounds good?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a sigh. “Thanks,Cormac, really. I don’t think it would have turned out good if I’d tried to go on my own.”

Cormac gave him a soft smile and pulled him close to hug and speak softly in his ear. 

“You don’t get yourself enough credit, Harry.” Cormac pulled back. “Besides, I’m the one who snagged himself a hot date.”

Harry flushed and laughed at Cormac’s wink before the older student slung his arm around his neck and walked with him away from the hall. It wasn’t exactly what Cormac wanted, but it was a promise to at least have a chance to broach the subject with Harry. Perhaps score a dance or something. He did have to remember that Harry wasn’t officially of dynamic courting age anyway. 

Still, he couldn’t help but feeling a little smug. Whoever that tall, dark and handsome Durmstrang student that had been stealing Harry’s weekends and free flight time was had lost out. 

Cormac had asked first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've got questions about the world or anything else, please leave a comment. Critiques are always welcome and beloved! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	12. Yule Ball

Mihkail opened the carriage door and got out before turning back and helping Harry out. Harry flushed, but took his hand and basked in the warmth that came with the gesture. It never ceased to amaze him. He really should have been used to these gestures by now, but he found that he just wasn’t. Every time Mihkail kissed his hand or led him somewhere, it made his heart flutter and his face hot. The little gestures were quickly becoming his most anticipated thrills of the day.

“You don’t have to do that, you know?” Harry said, refusing to look up at Mihkail.

He could feel the other’s gaze on him, assessing questioning when he asked, “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Harry stammered, blushing, “N-No, that’s not. I just meant, you know I’m a guy and I can get out myself. It’s not like I’m a p-princess or something like that.”

Harry glanced up to see Mihkail’s face. He wasn’t sure what to make of the furrow on his brow, but when it was quickly replaced with a smile, he couldn’t look away. Mihkail’s smile was as arresting now as it had been when he’d first seen it.

“ _Princess_ ,” Mihkail said, drawing out the syllables as if trying to taste the word in its entirety. There’s a hint of amusement coloring his tone and his smile shifted into more of a smirk. “No. You aren’t. Though it is an act of chivalry.”

Harry worried his lip. “Princess isn’t really a wizarding term is it?”

“No,” Mihkail said. “But I understand what you mean. I didn’t mean to offend you. It is merely customary in Wallachia for dominants to treat submissives with a certain amount of reverence.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as Mihkail stepped away from him a bit. The distance made his stomach flip and churn uncomfortably. His hand shook.

 _C-Come back,_ a voice whimpered at the back of his mind.

“I’ll cease if it bothers you,” Mihkail said and gestured ahead of him.

Harry blinked, his eyes burning with tears unshed. The moments ticked on and soon he heard his heart racing in terror, in panic maybe. His throat went dry and the tremor of his hands traveled up his arm.

He gasped as his lungs burned. It tasted like cold wind and blood.

 _What?_ Harry thought as the tears came rolling down his cheeks, frigid tracks down his face. He felt cold, something colder than his heavy coat should have allowed to reach him. He couldn’t see Mihkail.

“ _Harry?_ ” Mihkail asked, but it didn’t break through the sound of the wind rushing around him.

Laughing.

Cackling.

_Don’t go._

_Don’t go._

_You’ll never come back._

_Don’t go._

*

Mihkail stiffened the scent of distress coming off Harry hit him quickly and made him reach out as Harry mumbled to himself. The mantra of _don’t go_ on the younger’s lips made his blood go cold.

“Harry?” he asked and Harry launched himself at him, wrapping his arms around Mihkail. Mihkail put a hand on his hooded head and squeezed him close.

“Harry,” Mihkail soothed. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. Nothing has changed. Look at me, sweet.”

Harry tilted his head up, unaware of anyone around, unaware of anything but the cold and Mihkail’s warmth around him. His slight frame trembled against him. Harry’s face had lost all color, his gaze was unfocused.

“What?” Harry asked, dazed. “Wh-What happened?”

“What are you feeling?” Mihkail asked. “Talk to me.”

“Y-you stepped away and I-- I got cold and my heart raced. I-- I-- What’s happening to me?”

Mihkail sucked in a breath and tucked Harry’s head into his shoulder as the tremors died down and his breathing evened out. “Let’s talk over dinner, okay? Perhaps I should take you back--”

“No!” Harry pleaded. “I-I’m fine. Please!”

“Okay,” Mihkail said, his brow furrowing, stroking Harry’s head to get him to calm down. “Okay. We’ll go to dinner, just like we planned. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

Harry sucked in breaths as if he was suffocating and clung to him. It didn’t make any sense. He knew he had a strong presence to most submissives. He’d been careful to keep his emotions out of any magical transfers he’d given Harry, a magical distance from him, and his more dominant charm separate from any charm he used on Harry. So how was it that Harry was having such a reaction to him? He wasn’t like this when they were apart, he knew that much or Hermione would have gutted him by now.

So what could it have been?

“Harry,” he said. “When is your birthday?”

“J-July,” Harry answered.

He frowned. He’d only turned fourteen a few months prior to meeting Mihkail. It could have been trauma, but it would have had to have been something distinctly linked to--

 _Oh,_ Mihkail thought and squeezed Harry tighter. He looked down at the scar barely peeking through Harry’s dark bangs. He’d thought it odd that a scar as old as Harry said it was should look so fresh, a raw, red-pink jagged scar on Harry’s forehead.

“Shh,” Mihkail soothed. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Let’s get something warm in you, okay?”

Harry nodded, clinging to Mihkail as the older student turned towards Hogsmeade’s shops. He kept Harry pressed along his side until they arrive at the Three Broomsticks. He got Harry settled at a table quickly and put his cloak around him before ordering a mug of warm cider for the both of them.

“I’ll be around to bring your usual,” Rosmerta said glancing to Harry who trembled in Mihkail’s cloak. “Is Harry okay?”

“Just cold,” Mihkail assured. “I’ll get him warmed up in no time.”

Rosmerta watched Mihkail walk away from the bar with the two mugs carefully. While they had seemed adorable every time they came in, that didn’t keep her from watching their interactions carefully. It looked like a normal date to her with Harry playing the flushed submissive flourishing under a dominant’s attention. Mihkail set the mugs down and adjusted the large fur lined cloak around Harry to give him a free hand. He sat next to him, squeezing Harry close.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I-I’m not sure what happened.”

“I do,” Mihkail said. “At least I have a pretty good idea. Drink up. The Madam said she would bring food soon.”

“Are you going to the Yule Ball?” Harry blurted out.

His cheeks heated, not really sure where that question came from. One moment he felt like he was going to freeze to death, that Mihkail was going to vanish and now he was blurting out passing thoughts from _days_ ago. The next thing he knew, he’d be spewing all of the--

“Yes. Are you?” Mihkail took a sip of his ale and watched Harry’s jaw clench.

“Erm, yes, with a friend, Cormac.”

“That’s good,” Mihkail said. “I hear you should enjoy your first dance with friends. More fun that way.”

Mihkail chuckled thinking back to his first ball at the IWA Headquarters. He’d felt so out of place in his formal robes standing with his uncle and brothers. The first dracula claw burned his chest beneath his robes, hot and distracting. It had been horrible.

“I almost blew up the venue at my first ball.”

“What?” Harry asked, horrified. “How?”

“Well,” he said. “I was six or so. My parents had just been killed. My family had to make an appearance at the IWA function so there I was. Agitated, a very agitated little six year old, with a whole lot of magic coursing through my body.”

Harry gawked up at him as Mihkail chuckled at the memory, “No one was hurt and I only broke one punch bowl. It was an accident.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said. “I can’t imagine showing my face anywhere with the death of my parents on my mind like that.”

Mihkail shrugged, “Such is the burden I bear.”

“You have brothers?” Harry asked.

“I do. Three of them and a sister. Two of them left Wallachia to go to Wales another Dragon sanctuary. My sister actually works for the IWA at their headquarters in Greece. They’re all older than me and left Wallachia as soon as they could.”

“B-because of your parents?”

Mihkail nodded, “I see them still. We’re close. I actually managed to get them to come home by playing the little brother card.”

Harry chuckled, “I can see how hopeless they would be to your pleading.”

“Completely,” Mihkail assured. He took Harry’s hand to check its coloring. It had regained a healthy color and Mihkail pressed a kiss to it before kissing Harry’s head. “Warmer now?”

Harry nodded and hummed, leaning into Mihkail’s embrace dazedly.

“Have you been feeling strange otherwise, Harry?” Mihkail asked.

“No,” Harry said. “I’ve actually been really good.”

Mihkail smirked. He bet. He bet Harry was always _good._ He ran a hand through his hair and took another sip of his cider. Rosmerta arrived with their soups for the weather and asked after Harry’s well-being.

“Just a little cold,” Harry said, flushing. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”

Rosmerta met Mihkail’s eyes, “Could I borrow you for a moment, sweetheart?”

Mihkail’s lips twitched. It seemed that there were quite a number of people looking after Harry. That was good. He tucked his cloak a little tighter around Harry and stood to follow Rosmerta towards the bar.

Harry watched them over his mug curiously. What would Rosmerta have to speak to Mihkail about?

Rosmerta looked up at Mihkail who looked as relaxed as anyone could. Either he had a distinct disinterest in authority figures or he’d truly done nothing wrong. She intended to know either way and find a way to get him away from Harry if it turned out to be the former.

“What did you do to him?”

Mihkail’s lips twitched, “Wooed him, of course. You’ve seen me.”

“He’s never looked like that before,” Rosmerta pointed out. “And yes, I have seen you and I still haven’t figured you out. He isn’t even fifteen yet.”

“No,” Mihkail said. “He isn’t, but he doesn’t have to be for me to date him.”

Rosmerta grit her teeth, “I’m warning you. If you harm him, there are hundred if not thousands of people willing to skin you alive.”

Mihkail smiled, “I’m glad that he is so loved. He needs it.”

Rosmerta frowned as Mihkail offered her his hand.

“As a man of Wallachia, I give my word that I mean no harm to Harry, nor do I intend to do anything untoward to him even when he is of age.”

Her eyes widened, “Wallachia?”

_Interesting._

Most of the wizarding world outside of the IWA didn’t know much about Romania, let alone Wallachia. He had only said it since it was customary to pledge an oath in that manner between dominants. He’d never imagined that Rosmerta would know of his country.

“Yes,” he said easily. “Wallachia.”

Rosmerta sighed, “No need then. Go back to him. I’m sure he’s worried.”

Mihkail paused for a moment but retracted his hand and turned to look at Harry who watched nervously. He walked back to the table and slid in beside Harry to pull him up against him again.

“Wh-what was that about?” Harry asked. “I’ve never seen her look like that before.”

“She just wanted to be sure that I wasn’t taking advantage of you,” Mihkail explained. “You aren’t yet fifteen.”

“Is that bad?” Harry said. “I know my dynamic can’t be officially tested until then, but I thought that was all.”

“It’s usually best not to engage in anything dynamic related until you’ve presented fully,” Mihkail said. “Since you know your dynamic, I take it that you’ve been tested.”

He nodded, “Before my birthday.”

Mihkail frowned, “For what reason?”

Britain was really backwards if they started testing that early. He knew some territories, even in the IWA started testing people at fourteen because fifteen wasn’t _exactly_ when it happened and it was better to catch it early rather than late, but thirteen was young without reason.

“I,” Harry sighed and picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl. “I was hurt pretty badly at the end of the war. I spent most of the summer in the hospital and didn’t even come back to school until right before you all arrived.”

Mihkail frowned and rubbed Harry’s shoulders as Harry stared into his soup bowl.

“Th-they said they had to test me completely to be sure that nothing had been messed up.”

Mihkail frowned. That was a load of bullshit. Someone’s dynamic was rooted in their brain, in their biology, and their magic. It wouldn’t change through injury no matter how bad. Injury, magically induced trauma especially, could bring someone’s dynamic manifestation about exponentially faster due to the stresses on a person’s psyche. He licked his lips nervously. The path his brain was leading him down was a dark and dangerous one.

He didn’t like it , but all the signs were there. If they’d been able to pick up on his dynamic before he’d even turned fourteen, it meant that Harry’s trauma had brought on his manifestation hence his reaction to Mihkail’s treatment. But for how long had Harry been manifested? How long had his instincts been begging for attention? A year? Two? Since he came to Hogwarts? How is it that he’d gotten into so much trouble from the time he was eleven until now? What the hell were the staff of Hogwarts doing that a _child_ would be in so much danger?

There was a level of mischief expected of students in a boarding school, but Harry’s exploits were definitely beyond what should be expected.

“Harry,” Mihkail began. “Have you always been cold?”

Harry worried his lip and nodded, “Since I was a kid, I’ve always ran a little cold.”

“Prone to panic attacks? Nightmares? Sleeplessness?”

Harry frowned and nodded. He turned to face Mihkail. “Yes, how’d you know?”

His eyes flickered to Harry’s forehead. His eyes narrowed at the lightning bolt. He licked his lips and pushed a hand through Harry’s messy locks so his thumb grazed it. Harry jerked, his pupils dilated and his breath quickened.

_For fuck’s sake._

It couldn’t be.

It just--

Mihkail fought back the nausea and focused on Harry’s honest eyes looking up at him, happy and a little dazed.

“I see.”

Harry sighed softly, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” Mihkail said. He smiled and steered the conversation away from the darkness Mihkail could feel hovering around Harry. “Are you excited about the Yule Ball?”

Harry worried his lip.

“I think so… You should come with us.” Harry suggested, dragging his bowl towards him. “Me and Cormac. I think you’d get along and it’d be nice to have the two people I spend so much time with besides Ron and Hermione meet.”

Mihkail smiled, “I’d like that. Thank you for inviting me.”

Harry smiled happily, his eyes bright and began to eat.

Dangerous.

Harry was dangerous, not just to any dominant who had enough of an instinct to see it, but to himself too. He was too unguarded, too open. It wasn’t his fault if he’d grown up outside of the wizarding world. He didn’t know what to look for and Britain certainly didn’t train their dominants properly, or at all. He didn’t expect them to really educated their submissives either. Someone could actually take advantage of him.

Not to mention the scar.

 _Thank god that Hermione has been around,_ Mihkail thought. The fame and Harry’s popularity had probably been in part caused by his incredibly powerful submissive draw. Whether that had begun the night Harry got the scar or sometime after, he couldn’t know, but he’d find out slowly and surely. He needed to write to the Lord Black again, to make him aware if he wasn’t already. Harry was a walking stick of dynamite waiting for any dominant who didn’t have their head on straight to light.

“You’re beautiful,” Mihkail said softly and kissed Harry’s head.

Harry flushed and continued to eat under Mihkail’s watchful eye. They ate dinner comfortably sitting together at the table. When Harry began to nod off beside him, Mihkail paid for their meal and practically carried Harry out on his back.

Harry woke up blearily as Mihkail arrived at the Gryffindor portrait. He kissed Harry’s hand and bade him get some actual rest before hurrying back to the Durmstrang ship to draft his letter to Sirius.

*

“Hey, Hermione, you’re a girl.”

Harry’s eyes widened and he gawked at Ron, unable to believe that such a thing had come out his mouth in the middle of Study Hall with Severus not even a few feet away. Hadn’t he gotten in enough trouble with the dark-clad professor to make him wary of getting into anymore? More importantly, hadn’t he been shut down by Hermione enough this year to make him keep his mouth shut? It was almost like he was a glutton for punishment or something.

“Ron--”

“Well spotted,” Hermione congratulated, not even bothering to look up or heed Ron’s statement.

Ronald had been prone to making quite a few statements without thinking this year. Hermione figured it was because he was going through puberty and the hormones were making him stupid. Adding to the fact that he was turning fifteen soon and the biological and magical locks on his dynamic were loosening, she gave him some slack.

She felt terrible thinking back to her childhood, the first time she’d encountered something magical. She’d been around eight. Her parents had vanished on the trip to Cambodia. She’d woken up in the middle of the night to see them barely moving beneath a dark shadow.

She’d learned that the dark shadows were lethifolds, magical creatues related to Dementors. Those creatures would have likely killed her too if she’d been asleep at the time. The British Embassy had been nice enough to take her home and put her in foster care. It was then that her obsession with reading and her long sleepless nights had begun. Her bossiness, her competitiveness, but also her fierce defensive streak. Looking back, she’d probably manifested that night and just didn’t know what to do with all of that dominant energy. She almost felt bad for the number of teachers who had to deal with her when all they wanted was a nice little girl who would go along with whatever they said.

“Well, for a dominant to go stag it’s fine, but for a female, submissive especially, that’s just kind of pathetic.”

Harry flinched at the words and Hermione felt the words like a flint in the dark over a bed of kindling. Fire was coming. The smoke had begun and that familiar rage was rising in her. It had been the same rage that she’d socked Draco with last year.

“Doubt you have enough friends besides us to go with and that’s only the second most pathetic option.”

Hermione’s jaw clenched and she looked at Ron’s disparaging expression. She reached out beneath the table to take Harry’s hand and squeeze before she smiled serenely at Ron. The bloomed red rose in her hair had turned to a metal pin strong enough to hold even her wild locks and it was probably the only thing keeping her from hexing Ron across the table. Merlin praise Bulgarian magic and her need to protect Harry. Ron should be grateful.

“You know funny thing about that, Ron, is that I already have a date.”

Harry’s eyes flickered to her with interest as Ron’s jaw dropped.

“And if that is how you speak to women there’s no wonder why you are, and will probably remain, dateless.”

Ron flushed and she continued working, holding Harry’s hand gently. By the time he fumbled something to say to her, Cormac had arrived to scoop Harry away and she headed out of study hall with them.

“Hermione,” Harry started as they walked. “You and--”

“Yep,” she said pleasantly.

Harry grinned, “I’m glad.”

Hermione nodded. “Me too.”

“So you and Cormac?”

“We're just going as friends. M-Mihkail is coming too.”

She gave him an amused smile. Seemed like Mihkail was not one to miss out on an opportunity.

“Oh?”

He nodded. “I invited him.”

“Good for you,” Hermione said. “Are you going to be okay?”

Harry nodded, “Ron’s just frustrated.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to be an arse.” She said. “Nor hurt you.”

She squeezed his hand and Harry squeezed back, “Thanks.”

“Go on and get to class,” she nudged him. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get a better partner than last time.”

He waved goodbye before jogging to catch up with Dean and head to Potions. Hermione hummed, not what she expected, but not completely unexpected either. Mihkail was a smart one, letting Harry come to him. Probably the best fit for Cormac and Harry. Harry who needed someone to trust and Cormac who needed someone to...

_To what?_

She hadn't quite figured out Cormac given the way he seemed to be so cautious yet open with Harry, yet almost timid with her.

 _Timid_ is the word she found fit. Yes, Cornac was an outrageous flirt, but where with Harry he was exceedingly tactile, others, like herself, his flirting seemed regulated to all talk and nervous distances. She thought once that it was because she was a woman, but that wasn't the case. No, it was because she was a dominant. Cormac was a rare case of being able, and willing to pair himself with a submissive or a dominant, regardless of his sexual preference.

 _Switch,_ she thought, recalling a book on dynamic history.

She looked up, feeling a familiar presence that made her stomach churn. It wasn't fear but disgust as she looked up to see Karkaroff and his daughter trailing behind him pale as a ghost towards where Viktor seemed to be enjoying his time outside having a bit of a snowball fight with Draco and a few of his Durmstrang friends.

Hermione watched on ignoring passerby who had nothing but snide remarks to make about her obvious fascination with Viktor. Let them believe what she would, but as Mihkail watched with her, she had a feeling that this would be a revealing moment.

The older student who always seemed so relaxed was tense beside her, eyes focused on watching Kakaroff interact with Viktor. He carried a book with her and took a seat in the alcove beside Hermione to open their books and observe.

“I think I’m rubbing off on you,” Hermione said absently.

“Perhaps,” Mihkail said. “We need to talk about Harry.”

“When?”

“Meet me in the library after dinner near Ancient Runes.”

Hermione hummed her ascent and they went back to watching the scene unfold. Viktor turned and straightened his spine while regarding his Headmaster with an apparently unaffected cool while his face lost all color.

Viktor was _scared_ of Karkaroff? She wondered. It would seem so.

Then again, seeing the way Karkaroff seemed to eye Viktor like a perfectly tender and marinated steak, she had a feeling it had to do with the fact that the man was a dominant with strong ties to Viktor’s family. Meaning that his family, save his Baba, didn't know that he was a submissive. Perhaps his parents spoke often about joining their family with Kakaroff?

_No wonder he’s so pale._

“Have you a color you would like her to wear for the Yule Ball?”

Viktor looked at Katerina as she remained frozen and frightful. He hadn't considered this when he decided to ask Hermione to the Ball.

He looked up for a moment catching a glimpse of her in her usual position: eyes in her book, sitting on the stone openings, and watching though she seemed not to be. Mihkail appeared equally occupied though he knew his best friend was always watchful when it came to Kakaroff. It made Viktor relax and breathe easy for a moment before looking to regard the two of them.

“Petya,” he said evenly and heard Petya come over.

He knew this game well.

Karkaroff wanted Viktor to make his intentions known publicly, to trap him as was easy enough to do with dominant-submissive culture in Russia where he was from. The person to pick the wear of the date was always the date. Karkaroff thought he was cunning. Viktor had been trained by his grandmother and the people of Wallachia in dominant tactics. Kakaroff never had a chance.

“And of course whatever else you may request of her.”

Petya tensed beside him watching the girl pale and tremble. While they had a working agreement about how they would help each other, they had never been caught in this position. Petya knew that Viktor had no interest in her, but also knew that he would be the last on Karkaroff’s list of choices for a dominant worthy of his daughter.

Petya, while in possession of a good heart and a brilliant student, came from a poor wizarding family and mixed blood. The next behind Viktor would be Michalek, the son of one of Kakaroff’s best friends. He wasn't the nicest person and surely the kind of dominant who enjoyed breaking submissives. He'd been salivating for a chance to take liberties with Katerina for years, glaring at Viktor who was the only hinderance to do so.

“Anything?” Viktor asked without inflection or expression.

“Of course,” Karkaroff said. “It would be good for her to experience submission earlier rather than later and get accustomed to you.”

Viktor looked at Petya, “What color do you think would suit Katerina best?”

Petya blinked and looked at her. She seemed petrified, her eyes pleading with him.

“Amethyst is your favorite color isn't it?” Petya asked her, knowing full well the answer.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then I believe amethyst would suit her best.”

Viktor nodded, “My thoughts exactly. My request is simple: allow Petya to escort you to the Yule Ball and to Hogsmeade to pick out your gown.”

Petya’s jaw dropped and Karkaroff flushed with anger.

“Y-yes, Sir,” she said timidly, looking up at Petya shyly.

“Viktor, this isn't--”

“Perhaps you should take more care in the way you treat your submissive daughter than leaving her to the mercy of dominants for your _ambition.”_

Petya’s eyes widened at Viktor’s speech, hard authoritative as he assumed his full height over Karkaroff who glared at him before storming away leaving them there. Viktor looked at Katerina who smiled at him gratefully.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said with a smile.

Viktor shook his head and clapped Petya on the shoulder.

“You can thank me by making sure this rascal treats you well.”

Petya flushed and stammered, “You--”

She chuckled at that, “I don’t think he’ll have a problem doing so, Sir.”

Viktor nodded and nudged her towards Petya.

“Enjoy the time you have a while your father is busy trying to calm himself down and find a loophole in what I just said.”

She nodded gratefully. She let Petya take her by the arm to lead her away from the snowball  fight and sit with her. Viktor couldn’t help but smile, feeling surprisingly good at the action. There would be consequences for it later, he was sure, but he just didn’t care considering. He took another look over at Hermione and Mihkail. She, as usual, managed to look up at just the right moment to give him a proud smile. Mihkail grinned slyly at him.

It was more than enough to make dealing with Karkaroff later all the easier.

*

_Dear Lord Black,_

He would have groaned, but then he checked the seal. It was familiar in that he’d gotten a letter before in the same hand.

 _Mihkail,_ he thought. The Voivode of Wallachia who’d made no personal reference to his status. He sat back with a frown. It had been too long since Sirius sent his reply to Mihkail’s letter of intent for it to be a reply. This had to be something else.

_I fear for Harry’s life. I have plans to meet with Hermione to speak with her and get a better understanding, but I felt duty-bound to inform you first. I hope this letter does not come as a shock to you, but a confirmation of what you already know. If it is, please feel free to ask for clarification. For your information, I have also sent a similar report to the IWA, they will more than likely be contacting you soon regarding it._

_Harry has become attached to me in the way that a submissive would with a dominant they have chosen. I assure you that I have not done anything inappropriate, you can ask Hermione for proof of that._

_It came as a shock to myself as well when I realized. As I’ve gotten to know Harry, there are instances in his history at Hogwarts and his life before the wizarding school that give me pause. Based on the things he’s told me, I believe that Harry was forcefully pushed into his dynamic manifestation. He told me recently that he has had Drop symptoms since he was a child. I am unsure if it began before or after he received the scar, but I am willing to bet that it is concurrent._

_The scar itself isn’t physical in nature, but connected to his core magic, his life force. It’s a literal scar on Harry’s soul, though it’s more like an open wound. I don’t believe he understands the danger that it presents for him. I will attempt to explain it to him with your permission or at least have Hermione do so._

_I am willing to bet that whatever he experienced prior to attending Hogwarts did not make that wound and his trauma any better.  The incidents that color his first three years at the Hogwarts seem designed to do what had already been done and more, perhaps scar him further. If manipulated, a scar of that nature has the potential to act like an Imperius curse with no chance of fighting it off. Given that Harry has such fame in Britain, I have a feeling that was the point as it would make him a perfect spokesperson for anyone’s political aims._

_He told me that he was tested for his dynamic while he recovered from the war. It’s a proven fact that trauma does not affect how someone will manifest, only when their dynamic presents strong enough to be read by the testing spells. That usually happens when someone is about fifteen as you know, but it can be hurried along. A dynamic testing spell is not a part of the standard check up by anyone’s medical standard. It has to be requested and can only be done so by a guardian. As you were only recently exonerated, that guardianship would have been in the hands of his muggle family or the headmaster of Hogwarts._

_The test can only be administered by a certain level of Healer or government official. I believe I don’t have to tell you that it is more probable than not that Harry’s near death at the end of the war was orchestrated as was his involvement in the war in its entirety. What someone could gain from doing such a thing, I have no idea, but I feel that you do._

_Lord Black, I highly advise that you seek the IWA’s early graduation track for Harry to get him out of Hogwarts as soon as possible. When I have more, I will share it with you if you wish. Do know that I don’t intend to step aside and let anything happen to Harry._

_I have come to care for your godson and ward quite a lot since meeting him in October. I wish only for him to be safe._

_Best,_

_Mihkail_

Sirius set the letter aside and felt his entire body thrumming with rage.

 _Orchestrated?_ Sirius thought. _Dumbledore._

Not only had that bastard stood there and watched Harry be tortured and Hagrid be killed, but he’d _made it happen_? For what? The Potter Fortune?

He gasped. The prophecy too? The prophecy that had led to Lily and James’s deaths? It could have easily have been Neville Longbottom, but everyone knew that the Longbottom vaults did not come with the vastness that the Potter vaults did. Not to mention Lily was virtually without family as was James in the end. Harry was the easier of the two if the plan was to have a political puppet for later that happened to come with a vast amount of resources upon his death.

Dumbledore made him a legend, then a hero and attempted to make him a puppet. Hermione had stopped that in its tracks and now who knew what would happen? So long as Harry was still at Hogwarts he was in danger. Maybe even more danger than if Voldemort was still alive.

 _Voldemort,_  Sirius thought, his brow furrowing. Albus had had the chance to steer Tom Riddle away from the dark while he was still in school. If he’d been as involved in Tom’s life as he had been in Harry’s, there was a good chance that Lord Voldemort would have never existed.

His heart stuttered and he fumbled for a clean sheet of parchment and a fresh self-inking quill. He had to protect Harry. He couldn’t lose Harry like he lost James. He just couldn’t. No matter how deep and how far back Dumbledore’s betrayal led, he couldn’t dedicate time to figuring it out now. He grabbed a piece of parchment and began to scribble furiously.

_Voivode Dracula,_

There was no sense in hiding and Harry would need all the protection he could get if Mihkail was correct. The Dracula line of Wallachia was highly respected in the IWA and held a great deal of clout elsewhere. Mihkail had connections due to his status--maybe connections enough to protect Harry for as long as it took for him to get out of Hogwarts and come of age.

*

The Yule Ball came quickly, too quickly for Harry’s liking. Sirius had sent his robes with some instructions but not nearly enough, let alone a way to tame his unruly hair. The letter had been hurried, worried it seemed, frightful saying that he would meet him at the Hogsmeade station to take him home for the rest of the break. They had to talk about something of dire importance.

It had made him nervous, especially with Mihkail’s caution and heightened watchfulness over him since their last dinner at the Three Broomsticks. Harry fiddled with his dress robes, infinitely glad that there weren’t any crazy restrictions on what they had to look like since he was a submissive. Sirius told him that Britain was pretty backwards when it came to such things but he hadn't bought Harry’s robes in Britain.

“You look wonderful,” a warm voice came from behind him. He whirled to see Cormac there, dressed for the evening and smiling. Harry stammered as Cormac came closer. Ron must have left the door open. Cormac placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and kept him still before dropping his hands to adjust his robes and meeting Harry’s eyes steadily.

“There we are,” Cormac said, letting his fingertips graze over his cheek. “Let’s get going.”

Harry nodded, turning to put just a bit of distance between him and Cormac who’d set off a host of butterflies in his stomach, like flying after the Snitch. They exited the portrait with Cormac allowing him to go ahead.

“Good evening, Harry.”

He looked up and flushed.

_Merlin, help me…_

Cormac watched the blush on Harry’s cheeks grow and then looked up to the dark robe clad student who’d greeted him. It was the same student he saw walking or eating with Harry so frequently these days. He was also seen with Viktor often enough and had been at their practice.

_Merlin, what do they feed people wherever he’s from?_

He’s taller than Cormac and that was generally a rare occurrence. If that wasn’t bad enough he was far broader, bigger, up close and he looked positively _sinful_ in his robes. Though they were pretty much the same as every other Durmstrang students’, they looked to fit him worlds different.

“Mihkail, good evening,” Harry stammered, swallowing before turning to introduce Cormac who already had his hand out towards the taller student.

“Mihkail, nice to meet you. I’m Cormac McLaggen.”

Mihkail met Cormac’s eyes and he could practically feel Harry’s nerves. Mihkail shook his hand firmly. Cormac’s aura seemed split. Familiar like Harry’s but also much like Hermione’s.

 _Switch_ , he though. How rare, especially outside of the IWA territories.

“Hello Cormac, I hope you aren't too upset to have me joining you.”

“Not at all,” Cormac said, pulling Harry closer to him. “Harry could use more people around to crack that shell of his.”

Harry huffed and shoved him, “I can be friendly when I chose to be.”

“Ooh, Harry’s bringing out feisty Harry,” Cormac said with a sleazy grin. “I haven’t seen him in a  while.”

Mihkail chuckled at Cormac’s antics as Harry growled at him, his cheeks hot.

“I will sock you,” Harry threatened.

Cormac chuckled and slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders, “I’m only teasing. Come on. Let’s get going before the procession, yeah?”

Mihkail nodded and walked beside them towards the Great Hall. They’d outdone themselves with the decorations. It looked like a winter wonderland and as they walked in, Mihkail couldn’t help but glare up towards the Head Table where the Headmasters all sat.

Albus Dumbledore had hurt Harry beyond repair, beyond forgiving and there was nothing in him as a man, as a dominant, as a _human being_ that could ever consider forgiving the old man. He hoped Dumbledore lived to regret his decisions and that they haunted him for the rest of his life.

*

Viktor looked up to see Hermione descending the stairs. Her gown was the color of the sky at dawn over Wallachia, a beautiful periwinkle littered with stars. The red rose had returned to its original white in her hair that cascaded over her shoulder in glossy spirals. She was beautiful and proud with her eyes on him.

He offered her his arm with a grateful smile and she took it.

“You’re beautiful,” Viktor said breathlessly.

She smiled and lifted onto the balls of her feet to kiss his cheek.

“So are you,” she whispered in his ear before leading him towards where the procession had been lined up. There was no particular order, but she and Viktor were last.

She squeezed his arm gently as it shook. “Everything will be okay, Viktor.”

He hoped she was right, but it seemed that his body believed her. He stood a little straighter, a little prouder maybe. His heart calmed down as the doors opened and the procession began. She led him in time with Fleur and her date in front of them and it somehow makes the hundreds of eyes watching them fade into the background, like he was flying for a Quidditch match or simply flying alone across the night sky.

Draco stood beside Astoria with enough distance between them to have a fair chance of making a break for it out the Great Hall doors. Seeing Viktor and Hermione walk in with the rest of the champions and their dates had been a shock. He hadn’t known that Viktor had asked Hermione, but that wasn’t what caught his eye and made him think.

It was the way they walked. There was just enough delay between their steps, barely noticeable to anyone else that made him tilt his head. When they danced it was even more hidden by the whirling and the lifts they performed as part of the dance.

They looked stunning together. Her gown fluttering around them, encasing them in its star dusted wonder. They looked like a dream, but it wasn’t the kind of dream he expected.

What was it that was niggling at the back of his mind at their expressions? The way VIktor gazed at her as if she were the world. He pondered it and looked over to where Mihkail stood with Cormac and Harry. The look in Hermione’s eyes was similar at least to the way Mihkail looked at Harry sometimes.  

Mihkail was definitely a dominant.

Was Hermione one too?

Draco didn’t get much more of a chance to think about it as the niceties of classic music faded away and the band for the evening, the Wyrd Sisters, was revealed. It was loud and Astoria was so enthralled that she went rushing towards the stage, leaving him behind.

He let out a sigh of relief and escaped from the hall as quickly as his feet could--

“Oh, no you don’t,” Boris said in rough German. “It’s time to have fun.”

Boris dragged him back towards the crowd and towards a familiar group of students dancing to the music.

*

“Dance with me?” Mihkail asked, holding out his hand to Harry.

“Erm, I have two left feet. I think.”

Mihkail grinned at took his hand, “We’ll see about that.”

Cormac stuttered, but wasn’t left behind as Harry grabbed his hand at the last moment and pulled him along towards the crowd of bodies who were raving and at the sound of the Wyrd Sister’s newest song.

_Spin around like a crazy elf_

_Dancing by himself_

Cormac froze as Harry’s hand slipped from his and Mihkail pulled Harry close. There was a heated smile on his stupidly gorgeous lips as he looked down at Harry. Cormac didn’t think any person still in school had the right to dance like that. Mihkail moved like a man who knew his way around a bedroom almost too well. He guided Harry gently and soon enough Harry was flushed, breathless and gazing up at Mihkail at a loss for words only following Mihkail’s lead.

Cormac found himself unable to look away half in jealousy and half in desire. Curse his head being unable to make up his mind about what he really wanted.

*

“I’m thirsty!” Harry squeaked earning Mihkail’s rich and dark laughter.

Nevertheless, Mihkail cleared a path for Harry and escorted him off the dance floor towards the punch bowl. Harry poured himself a glass and gulped it down, trying to get his body temperature and distract himself for exactly how tight his trousers were feeling. Cormac caught up with them and Harry handed them both full cups of punch before refilling his own glass.

Mihkail chuckled a little at the gesture before another Durmstrang student came by to clap him on the shoulder and say something to him. Cormac tried to catch a few words, but it was a language that he didn’t speak. Harry watched the interaction. Whatever it was, Mihkail wasn’t happy about it. He sighed and finished drinking.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked.

“Kakaroff is calling for an early curfew tonight,” Mihkail said. “Apparently, something pissed him off more than normal.”

He set his glass down and took Harry’s hand. He pressed a kiss to it gently and then to his forehead.

“Thank you for a wonderful night, Harry,” Mihkail breathed. Harry trembled and practically swooned. “I will see you later.”

“G-Good night, Mihkail.”

Mihkail turned and shook Cormac’s hand. “It was good to meet you, Cormac. I trust you can keep him away from the wall for the rest of the night?”

Cormac narrowed his eyes at him and worried his lip before smiling slyly at him.

“No need to worry about that at all.”

Mihkail nodded  stroked Harry’s cheek gently, “Have fun, sweet.”

He left then, grabbing his dress cloak from the chair he’d left it on and jogging to catch up with the rest of the Durmstrang students. Viktor pressed one last kiss to Hermione’s hand before following them away from the door.

Cormac made good on his promise, pulling Harry back to the now Hogwarts only dancefloor. Harry saw Ronald speaking to Hermione somewhere in between dancing with Cormac, but as Ron flushed red, barked something angrily at her and then stomped away, he broke away to check.

Hermione flashed him a smile and nodded towards Cormac, “It’s not nice to abandon your date, especially after Mihkail practically handed you off like a princess.

Harry flushed and escaped her teasing back to the dancefloor with Cormac.

“Everything okay?” Cormac asked.

“Fine!”

He and Cormac are one of the last couples on the dancefloor by the last song, slowly rocking to the music. It felt a little silly considering, but comforting to just be close to him.

“Did you have fun?” Cormac asked.

“I did,” Harry said. “I can’t really remember having that much fun, except for maybe the World Cup.”

Cormac let out a low whistle, “I rank up with an international event. I feel special.”

Harry laughed and couldn’t seem to stop as Cormac walked with him back to Gryffindor tower.

“Harry,” Cormac began, holding his wrist hostage and stopping them from rounding the corner to where the Fat Lady’s painting hung.

“Yeah?”

Harry gasped as Cormac tugged him back and spun them so Harry’s back hit the wall. He felt frozen there under Cormac’s dark and hungry gaze. The firelight flickered nearby as he licked his lips nervously.

“C-Cormac?”

“I can’t figure out if you’re completely not interested in me or simply oblivious.”

“Wh-what?” Harry breathed as Cormac pushed into his space a little more. Their bodies weren’t touching, but he could feel Cormac’s body heat all along his front. He squirmed, his stomach fluttered, but he couldn’t look away.

Who knew what would happen if he looked away from Cormac? It wasn’t as if he was a snake, but Cormac was unpredictable at best and right now was no exception.

“C-Cormac?” He squeaked as the older student wrapped his hands around his shoulders gently and leaned in.

Harry closed his eyes, not sure what to expect as his heart pounded, but was shocked at the feeling of soft lips pressed to his forehead, just between his eyebrows. It didn’t feel the same as when Mihkail did it, no less intense, just different. A very different sort of affection maybe.

“You have no idea what you do to me, Harry,” Cormac said and drew back with a sigh. “Dangerous as you are.”

“D-Dangerous? Me?” Harry asked, flushed and nervous.

“Very,” Cormac said. “Come on, sweetheart. I’d better not keep you out to late or Hermione might gut me for being too _forward_.”

Harry followed him as Cormac held his hand and led him towards the portrait. When they entered there were only a few first years sitting around the fire laughing. They said nothing as Harry and Cormac walked past them and up the stairs. Cormac stopped in front of Harry’s dorm and turned to them.

“Harry,” he said. “I want you to know, so there’s no confusion about it.”

“What?” Harry asked.

“I fully intend to court you as soon as you’re old enough,” Cormac said. “And I’m sorry if that means I have to fight with Mihkail over you.”

“O-Over me?”

Cormac smirked at him and pressed a kiss to his hand. Harry gasped at the gesture and the feeling of Cormac’s fingertips sliding over his palm as he stepped back.

“Goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight,” he said a little lost for words and understanding.

_What just happened?_


	13. Dominant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, you just have to give a little push...
> 
> And sometimes you just have to let go.

Harry thought a trip back to the Black Manor would clear his head and give him some perspective. 

It didn’t. 

If anything it messed his head up even more. Sirius was there at Hogsmeade station to pick him up. From there, they floo’d to the pub in the middle of London and walked the cobbled streets to the Black manor. Once inside, Sirius sat him down in front of the fire, wrapped him in a blanket and pulled him close. They didn’t speak, but Harry could tell that something was wrong. Sirius hadn’t been sleeping, hadn’t been eating well. 

Two days after he’d arrived, Sirius brought up Hogwarts. They were sitting in their favorite parlor, a game of wizarding chess between them after dinner and before dessert. Harry wasn’t sure where the conversation had begun, but by the end of it he was terrified of the implications and clinging to Sirius. The dread of returning to Hogwarts was ice in his blood.

“Si-Sirius, you can’t-- you don’t think--”

“I’ll protect you, Harry,” Sirius said, firmly. He reached across the distance to take Harry’s hand and squeezed. “I promise. I promise.”

They’d fallen quiet and Dobby brought them dessert. A rich and warm chocolate cake to eat by the fire. It did little for the terror in his heart, but it did make him feel physically better. They moved to the couch to eat dessert. Harry curled up beneath a blanket leaning against Sirius in the circle of the man’s arms.

“Will you tell me about the Dursleys?” Sirius asked. 

Harry swallowed and curled up tighter in his arms. He smelled the way he always did, warm and comforting, but he wasn’t warm enough to risk delving into memories that still kept him awake sometimes. The Fae’s Kiss had done a lot for his anxiety, a lot for his nightmares, but there were still times that the memories were too strong to do anything but relive them.  The ones he did relive were never the worst, just cold lonely moments of freezing in that little cupboard beneath the stairs. He was thankful for that much, but such memories always stole the warmth from him.

“I lived in the cupboard under the stairs,” Harry said, staring into a middle distance. Sirius’s arm tightened around him. 

“Okay.”

Sirius didn’t urge him to say anything more, just held him and let him fall asleep against him. As he slept, Sirius read the latest letter from the IWA regarding his request to get Harry on the fast track to graduation. In the morning, he told Harry about the arrangements he’d managed to get together in order to get Harry out of Hogwarts as soon as possible. Harry jumped at the chance to make some progress towards being free of the constant terror that Hogwarts would become in the coming days. After breakfast, they went straight to the IWA headquarters in France. 

The receptionist was kind and offered them tea while they waited. They sat together outside of the testing room in Paris sipping the tea they’d been given quietly before Harry divulged one more fact of living with the Dursleys. 

“I only ate what they didn’t finish of their meals.”

Sirius paused and looked at him and before he could open his mouth, the proctor was calling for him. Harry stood to follow her into the room. 

“Harry.”

He paused  but didn’t look back. 

“I love you,” Sirius said. Harry turned back to give him a relieved smile. 

“I love you too, Sirius.”

*

Cormac tore the letter open almost too fast. Excited and terrified of its contents, his heartbeat against his chest. His eyes scanned through the intro until he came upon the line. 

_ Your application has been accepted and we will continue to monitor you. If you have any questions, please contact the IWA Office in Cairo. _

He grinned. 

“Cormac?!”

He flinched and scrambled to hide the letter in his trunk from school before opening the door to see what his mother wanted. 

“You have post dear,” she said warmly, eyeing the envelopes. “One of them is from Harry Potter. I didn’t realize that you were such good friends. You’ll have to invite him over for dinner.”

Cormac swallowed and forced himself to smile. Leave it to his mother not to realize the utter coldness of such a suggestion. Harry had been a major ordeal, was just settling into something like normalcy and she wanted to interrupt that for a chance to say that she had Harry Potter at her dining room table for a night 

“I think Harry’s a little busy with getting to know his godfather. I don’t think he’ll be able to make it any time soon.”

“Well, do at least extend the invitation. You’d be surprised.”

He'd be more surprised if Sirius allowed Harry to speak to him ever again if he even breathed a word of coming to a McLaggen dinner.

*

“Hermione, can we talk?”

Hermione looked up from her book as Harry came into the common room. He really shouldn't have been up given the hour, but seeing the Fae’s Kiss secured on his wrist she realized that it wasn't nightmares keeping him awake. Probably Mihkail and her conclusions about Dumbledore’s part in the war, probably the fear of being left alone at Hogwarts with just Ron for the next three years once Hermione graduated.

“Of course Harry. Care for some blanket?”

Harry smiled and nodded sliding onto the couch and under the blanket she offered. She opened her book and let him curl up against her.

“What are you reading?”

“A romance novel,” she said. “What's going on?”

He worried his lip thinking back to that moment in the corridor with Cormac how intense his eyes had been looking at him, hungry and searching. They'd made Harry squirm and want to run away. He'd trembled and practically melted when he'd pressed a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

And then there had been Mihkail dancing with him to the sound of the Wyrd Sisters. Th elder oozed a prowling sensuality that had Harry escaping for punch. Yes, Mihkail had escorted him off the dancefloor, but it didn't lessen the heat Harry could feel radiating off the older student. Something had changed between them from their almost weekly dates in Hogsmeade.

“What-- What exactly do dominants do to submissives?”

Hermione’s lips twitched, “Nothing more than the submissive wants and needs, but somehow I don't think that's what you really want to ask.”

Harry swallowed and leaned away as that knowing smirk made its way onto Hermione’s face. He regretted asking that question without a little more thought to what to say afterward.

“Are you asking me about sex, Harry?”

“I didn't--”

“You are,” she said in mock surprise. Harry flushed and hid his face in the blanket. 

“‘Mione!”

“No, you're asking about sex. You're-- You want to get naked with Cormac and Mihkail?”

“Hermione--”

“Double team?”

“I don't even--”

“Spitroast?”

“Don't even  _ tell _ me what that means.”

“Because you know I do my research?”

Harry huffed and she smiled reaching for the stack of books that she'd been setting aside for him. After seeing them at the Yule Ball. She knew it was only a matter of time before he'd come seeking advice. She was pretty sure he'd come to her first and the Sirius and already gave Sirius the heads up for the summer.

“Here's your first set of porn from me to you.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and she smiled at him.

“Don't get too distracted.”

Harry, wisely, shut his mouth and took the books with a thank you before escaping up the stairs to hide the books in his trunk. He crawled into bed with a sigh, a hopeless chuckle and a smile. At the very least, he had reading material for the nights where even the Fae’s Kiss wouldn't put him to sleep.

He was barely dozing off when he remembered that he was also supposed to be asking about her and Ron's argument.

_ Curse her and her diversions. _

*

After the Yule Ball, Hermione didn't see Viktor again until they returned from break. While he was noticeably more open to spending time with her where they could be seen, he still wasn't comfortable. She took more time during their interactions to observe him than ever before and came up with three potential reasons for his discomfort.

He was doubting his decision, but that didn’t seem likely.

Kakaroff was really making his life difficult, but that too was already a constant.

There was a lot more about his dynamic and his relationship with it than simply keeping it under wraps from his fans. 

Whatever it was, she did her best to make him as comfortable as possible. Honestly, that seemed to require toning down her dynamic instincts when they were in public and turning them up when they were alone. It seemed to be working well for his discomfort, but there was still a growing tension in him that she just couldn’t place.

At least Harry’s courting life was looking rather uncomplicated.

Cormac had taken to inserting himself into Harry’s schedule even more so than usual. Mihkail smiled, amused, at the blonde boy, but did nothing in retaliation. As usual, his focus was on Harry and together the triangle was utterly adorable and had Harry in high spirits through the first few weeks back from class.

This evening, Hermione and Viktor were set to meet in an old classroom. It was quieter than the library and the only other place Hermione spent as much time. She'd found the old room in her first year and claimed it for her own work space when sitting in the Commons wasn't an option. 

Viktor came into the room at the appointed time and closed the door behind him with a shuddering breath.

“Viktor?” Hermione asked. “Are you alright?”

“Da.”

She frowned and closed her book at his tone. Her eyes drifted across the room to where he stood with his back pressed against the wall. If perhaps she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was in a bad place. Viktor had the tendency to drop frequently and quickly throughout the day, but she could usually mitigate that with a well placed smile or a small bag of something to eat easily. She hadn’t seen him all day and thought it had been strange, but she hadn’t imagined that he’d get this bad in one day. 

_ What is it that you aren’t telling me, Viktor? _

“Would you like to sit?”

“N-Ne.”

“Would you like to lay down?” Hermione ventured.

“Ne.”

Hermione licked her lips, her eyes narrowing  at him as her instincts were trying to tell her something. Mihkail had been teaching her how to listen to them, how to interpret some of the feelings she got and how to channel them properly. He would be teaching her how to provide emergency aftercare with just touch but they’d gone through the basics of aftercare by IWA standards together and then by Wallachian standards. 

Right now, her instincts told her that Viktor was plummeting faster than he understood, or maybe just as fast as he understood and didn't know what to do about. Perhaps he had means to deal with it when he was alone, but he was here now.

“Would you like to kneel?”

“I can not!” Viktor yelled, flinching back and covering his mouth in shock. What little color had been in his cheeks vanished and he stumbled towards her. “I-I did not-- I-- please--” 

His knee sunk into the cushions as he tripped onto the couch. She set the book on the table and caught his wrists to steady him.

“I-- sorry--”

“Viktor, calm down,” she said gently as his shoulders seized up tightly. 

He pulled back letting out a shout of terror, panting, shaking.

“I-I can’t. I have to--”

“Viktor,” she said softly, his mouth closed even as he shook and his eyes darted furiously around, unfocused.

She knew the signs. It wasn't just panic, but a full on Drop, one that he wouldn't be able to stave off on his own no matter how good he’d gotten at toughing it out on his own. He’d come to her, probably knowing, recognizing the signs. He’d come to her terrified. Per Mihkail, Viktor had definitely suffered through a few major drops on his own, but he was here. 

Staring at her like something that would at once save him and destroy him. 

“Color, Viktor?” She asked. 

His eyes widened a fraction, but the word came out clearly. “ _ Zelen. _ ”

_ Green. _

She tugged him gently and cast a cushioning charm over her lap. He stared at her, his mouth open slightly and his eyes dazed as she guided him over her lap. He tensed when she got him settled and threaded a hand through his hair.

“Easy, Viktor,” she said. “Let me take care of you.”

She dragged a nails across his scalp gently, creating a gentle tug. He twitched and his breath quickened in response, a soft blush on the back of his neck.

She drew a hand up, concentrating her magic there and forcing herself to relax. Not too hard and not too softly, just enough.

Just enough.

She swatted him and felt him tense and quiver at the blow. His blush darkened across the back of his neck and he let out a shaky sigh as she tightened her grip in his hair a little more.

“Be a good boy,” she said. “Relax, Viktor.”

*

He flinched, his eyes open and confused staring forward until she pulled his hair a bit tighter and swatted him again. Somewhere in the room someone groaned. The world felt hot and fuzzy around the edges as the time between swats grew. Her hand coursed through his hair, tugging gently and a little rougher in turns as the tension drained out of him. The tingling, warm feeling coursing up his spine from where she swatted him tugged at all the knots between his shoulders.

When had anything felt so  _ good? _

It wasn’t the same as Mihkail’s emergency aftercare. NO, that was just a quick tidal wave to keep him from collapsing. This was slow and he had no experience, and thus no defense with  _ slow _ .

“I think ten will do, count for me Viktor. Start at three.”

Viktor whimpered, internally screaming in terror at his body’s betrayal, terrified as she spanked him again, just as hard and his mouth said “three.”

_ No. _ He thought, running from it, running from the rising tide that was coming to crash over him, chasing him from a distance that always seemed worlds away. He tensed again and she hit him a little harder earning a deep moan.

“Four,” he said as Hermione rubbed over the stinging spot gently.

_ Have to-- _

_ Can’t.  _

_ Won’t. _

_ Don’t want to, _ he closed his eyes at that thought, not sure where it came from and not willing to examine it any further. There was no fighting the subtle mix of pain, pleasure, and magic coursing through him and robbing him of any defenses. Her blows were precise, more magic than pain like an injection into his core that gushed out from his center. 

It was nice.

“There's a good boy,” she whispered. “You're doing so well.”

Viktor’s eyes burned with shame and embarrassment as she stroked him. Tears streaming from the pain and the insanity she was making of his brain.

He was horrified.

He thought he could hide it, but she knew. How had she known? He did everything he was supposed to do. For the love of Merlin, he was a better dominant than most dominants he knew--

_ Because you know better than anyone what a submissive wants. _

He whimpered at the sound of his baba’s voice. She was right and that only made him choke on a sob, shaking on Hermione’s lap as she landed the final blow. Gods, he'd been hit before but it never felt like this. There was only pain and a coldness in those blows, a wish to hurt him, to correct him, to  _ fix _ him. Hermione’s hands didn't feel like that at all. It felt like she was easing kinks out of his soul that he hadn't even known were there, little rips and frayed places inside sealing together like new.

“T-ten,” he gasped bitterly into the cushions. His body felt boneless and all he could do was shake, sobs came, but not a single tear sliding down his blotchy red face as she stroked his hair and rubbed his ass in soothing circles.

It felt so good that it made his stomach turn. He felt sick. He couldn't. He couldn't--

“It's okay, Viktor. You were so good, Viktor. So very good, sweetheart. You're so beautiful.”

He shuddered, his eyes closing as she continued to stroke and praise him, her magic washing over him in gentle waves.

*

She'd get his trousers down one day and spank him with a paddle of pure magic since it seemed that Viktor had denied himself even the basic pleasures of submission for far too long. Kneeling, simple spankings, simple touch were all the basics and he was so resistant to even this. Hermione kept her hand even soothing him as he whimpered, squirmed and counted for her. Reveling in his blush, she smiled and massaged his scalp, trailing a bit of relaxing magic in her fingertips. He hiccupped, low vulnerable sounds escaped him, but he didn’t move, nor tense up.

Yes, there was a lot about Viktor she didn't know and perhaps even more than she needed to find out soon if this was to work and Viktor was to keep his head on straight. Hermione kept her hand even soothing him as he whimpered, squirmed and counted for her. Reveling in his blush, she smiled and massaged his scalp, trailing a bit of relaxing magic in her fingertips. He hiccupped, low vulnerable sounds escaped him, but he didn’t move, nor tense up.

She watched him carefully dozing off with just the smallest whimper and hiccup to give away the fact that he was crying. She'd never been so glad to take that dominant class when she had the chance as well as the submissive one. Never been so glad to pull Mihkail aside and ask him for help as well as his intentions towards Harry. His tutoring and the classes made her see things, Viktor’s reactions and her own desires, in a whole new light.

“There we are,” she said with a soft smile as he fell asleep, across her lap. She conjured a pillow for his head and leaned back massaging his scalp and arse gently, pleased that he was so pliant in his sleep. She wondered how often he got such a good night’s sleep.

If she had to guess, it wasn't often enough. She would have to ask him one day when he was more stable why submitting was such a struggle for him. In public she understood, but given that Viktor had reacted so well to her, she didn’t understand his resistance and desperation for it in private. 

He began to rouse about an hour later, covered in a blanket, still laying across her lap. He startled and she wrapped her small brown hand around the back of his neck. He froze and let out a choked moan.

“I didn't say you could get up.”

He tensed and let out a gentle whimper. She kneaded the muscle at the nape of his neck and scratched his scalp, easing him into lying down again.

“I'll let you up soon, sweetheart. Just breathe for now. Are you alright?”

He breathed in time with her hands caressing his arse and eventually managed to nod.* She figured he wouldn’t be completely, still coming down and confused. 

“Did I go too far, Viktor?”

He nodded. 

“Was it too much?”

Again, he nodded. 

She worried her lip and her brow furrowed. His long eyelashes opened and closed slowly as she kept him over her lap. 

“Do you feel better?”

He shook his head and she sighed with relief.

“Are you hurt?”

He nodded again, “ _ Dobre.  _ Am okay.”

She waited until his soft moans fell quiet to let him up. He shook, flushed and dazed as she helped him into a sitting position, the blanket sliding down his shoulders. Hermione adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, settled him to sit beside her, and tugged him to lean against her. Threading a hand back into his hair, she turned towards him slightly and wrapped her other arm around his hunched shoulders.

“Good,” she whispered against his hair. “Breathe, sweetheart.”

It didn't seem like he could do anything but breathe. The clock ticked away letting her know that it was almost time for his curfew. At about fifteen minutes until Durmstrang curfew, she helped Viktor onto his feet and readjusted the blanket around him.

With a hand on the small of his back rubbing soothing circle with her thumb, Hermione walked him out of the room, out of the castle and towards the ship. They arrived with a few minutes to spare at the docks. She tugged him down to kiss him gently and wished him goodnight.

“You were so good for me,” she said. “You were scared, but you trusted me to take care of you. I'm honored and awed.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes barely conscious of what was going on. Mihkail came down the ramp to collect him with an impressed smile.

“You're so strong, Viktor,” she said. “Go to your cabin and crawl into bed, for me? Get some rest and I'll see you in the morning, okay?”

He shook his head, relaxing at her fingers on his jaw.

“We'll talk tomorrow, okay?”

He shook his head again as she gave him another kiss and turned him gently towards the ship’s docking plank and Mihkail. The man grinned at her and steered Viktor up the ramp. 

Viktor stopped once to turn back and look at her. Feeling a little cheeky, she waved and blew him a kiss. Mihkail laughed as Viktor whirled back around and proceeded to shuffle quickly through the door that led to the lower decks. 

Feeling accomplished, she shoved her hands in her pockets and whistled  into the night breeze as she walked back into the castle. She got her things from the old classroom they'd claimed in the west wing and wandered back to the Gryffindor tower, smiling and happy. 

When Hermione arrived, Harry was on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, and reading a letter with a secret smile.

“What's got you all rosy cheeked?” Hermione asked, crashing onto the couch beside him.

“N-nothing,” he stammered but Hermione gave him a knowing look. “How was… whatever you were doing until now?”

Hermione laughed, “Perfect. Got another love letter from Mihkail?”

He huffed, “They aren’t love letters.”

She leaned over and sniffed the paper. Apparently, she was feeling extremely cheeky tonight. 

“Hmm, vaguely scented, shy smiles, and very gallant prose I’m sure. Very traditional courting he’s doing. You like it.”

Harry sputtered, “He isn’t courting me.”

“Sure he isn’t,” Hermione said opening her latest book on wizarding traditions.

“I-Is he?”

“Just as hard as Cormac is courting you.”

Harry sputtered, “He--”

“Walking you to class, walking you from practice, defending you, the gloves? The cloak, Harry. The Ball.”

He was bright red by the time Ron came down to join them. He pointedly ignored Hermione, but greeted Harry cheerily about Potions or something else of importance to him. Hermione only smiled secretly and told them both she was heading to bed with a ruffle of Harry’s already unruly hair.

“Don’t stay up too late,” she teased.

Harry huffed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * in Bulgaria, nodding means no and shaking means yes, fyi.


	14. Black Lake

By the time the morning of the challenge came, Viktor had been avoiding Hermione and the library for three weeks. Kakaroff seemed glad for it, guiding him down to the pier and happy that she was nowhere in sight. Mihkail kept Kakaroff a safe distance away, but Viktor hardly noticed. 

He’d been avoiding Hermione out of fear and shame, but with every passing day, he craved her presence more. He missed the way she smelled, the warmth of her smile. It was maddening and frightening all at once. He wasn’t sure what to do with this longing that was tearing at him. Mihkail had been of little help, telling him to not fight it. 

_ He could never really understand, _ Viktor thought. Mihkail was from Wallachia, the concept of being discriminated and looked down upon because of your dynamic was foreign to him. Bulgaria was a WWA territory, but England wasn’t. The IQL was just as prejudice and the majority of the fans of the sport stood by their countries’ prejudice against submissives in the sport. 

It could ruin him if it came out before he had enough clout behind him. His team was supportive, his coach and the owner of his team were as well. Hell, all of Bulgaria would probably march on the streets for him, but they wouldn’t win. So long as he was kept under wraps, everything was fine. His attraction to Hermione had the potential to completely unravel that. 

“Hey,” Mihkail said, jarring him from his thoughts. “I can feel your mood spiraling down, you know? Perhaps you should--”

“I’m fine.”

Mihkail gave him hard look as they arrived on the docks, btu Viktor ignored it. He left Mihkail’s side to stand beside Fleur and Cedric and found that he couldn’t focus on the task ahead. Instead, he turned back to the crowd and searched for her brown face and curls. 

He couldn’t find her. 

Maybe she was angry with him and didn’t come?

Maybe she didn’t want him after all after seeing how pathetic he was? How low he could sink?

He shivered, feeling hypothermic in the cold winter air over the lake. Mihkail had cast warming charms on his swimming gear and he prayed that he could focus enough to get through this. He could feel the man’s gaze on him, knew that Mihkail would have several words for him that would be true, but Viktor didn’t want to hear them. 

_ Don’t think about her right now,  _  he thought.  _ Focus on the challenge. _

The Triwizard Tournament was one more step towards building up the clout of his name so when the reveal came, no one would have any grounding to look down at him. He was the best Seeker in at least a century by IQL standards and well on his way to growing that reputation, a Triwizard Tournament win would be huge. The trajectory of his career and his future would go a long way to the view of submissives and the way he viewed himself. 

_ Hermione isn’t the type to accept mediocrity. _

If he messed up, she definitely would want him anymore. Perhaps with a victory under his belt, she would think better of him. The horn blared and he dove in, pulling out his wand. 

He still hadn’t perfected the transfiguration, but the head of a shark was better than not being able to breathe at all. He swam deeper, following a scent in the water. It wasn’t anything that was new. The smell of fish, seaweed, the ocean, and something warm and soothing. It tugged on something in his chest.

_ Shea butter? Jasmine?  _

It was earthy and fresh and completely foreign to the loud scents of the Black Lake. it didn’t fit. There was something else as well. The tang of a wizarding hair potion and the hint of french cream. There was something fragrant like lilies coming from behind him, but the earthier scents called him forward.

_ Argan? _

His heart stuttered and he swam faster rushing towards the source of it as it grew stronger and unmistakable. Over the summit of the mer-settlement he swam towards the group of three forms floating. Long, wispy, dark hair on one end and thin light gold on the other waved in the currents. The two were vaguely familiar, but none of his immediate concern. The cloud of dark spirals and tight waves made his stomach flip. 

_ Hermione? _

His heart hammered and he felt his clarity drop into focus seeing her floating there unconscious and apparently lifeless. He rounded the rock they were anchored to, frightening a selkie to tear at the bond keeping her submerged. Once it broke, he took her hand and stopped for a moment. 

The scent of lilies was fading, getting closer too slowly and being overpowered with the scent of blood. The little blonde girl was clearly her sister. From the thickness of the blood, he guessed Fleur had run into trouble. The lyric of the mermaid’s song flittered through his mind.

_ Too late it’s gone, it won’t come back. _

He checked his watch and realized that the hour was nearing over. She came into view, stroking towards him, a trail of blood in the water, but she was there, a determined look on her face as she reached the pillar and tried to blast at it. She was too weak it seemed, losing blood too quickly to do it. Finally, the spell hit its mark, breaking the stone beneath the bond and Gabrielle floated up at a slow almost imperceptible pace as Fleur attempted to stroke up. Her limbs fell through the water without power. The bubble charm over face was getting smaller, flashing a warning.  He swallowed, brandishing his wand, holding onto Hermione’s arm tightly casting another spell so Gabrielle floated towards him. He linked their arms together.

He cast it again, grabbing Fleur by the waist as she began to lose consciousness. The selkie hissed and they swarmed, he whirled careful to keep the path of his wand’s blasts neutral, pushing them back to give them a wide berth as Fleur floated towards him. He only knew of a few simple healing spells, but they were enough to heal Fleur’s wounds and stop the bleeding. 

He got a hold of her and Gabrielle and kicked towards the surface, careful to keep the barrier between the four of them and the selkies. He pushed Hermione up towards the surface then Fleur and Gabrielle before breaking the surface himself. 

Hermione grabbed the flailing little girl who freaked out at Fleur’s lack of response. Viktor surfaced, shaking off the transfiguration and grabbing Fleur before she dipped back beneath the surface. Careful, to grab her wand, he held her to his side and helped push Hermione and Gabrielle towards the pier. Durmstrang went up in cheers and while he stroked towards the pier.  He watched them pull Hermione and Gabrielle out of the water before lifting Fleur out into the arms of other Beauxbaton students. Mihkail helped him out, wrapping him in a warming blanket as the warming charms had definitely worn off by then. 

“You alright?” Mihkail asked. “What the hell happened?”

He shook his head, “I--I couldn’t leave them.”

Mihkail sighed, scrubbing his hair with the towel. Viktor spared a glance over to Hermione who only seemed to look at him strangely. Unable to look away, he tensed at her searching expression. She smiled at him, warm and proud, her eyes twinkling, before blowing him a kiss. Viktor flushed and turned away shyly earning her light laugh.

Mihkail grinned at him before getting Viktor off the ground and to Madame Pomfrey’s care along with the rescued hostages and the other champions. When they announce Viktor was give second place for timing but a few extra points for not leaving Fleur and Gabrielle behind,  he’s sure that he’ll never hear anything again with the way the Durmstrang students yell and scream with victory. That would make him tied with Cedric for first place since he was first in the Dragon test.

Slowly, they head back to the castle and Viktor is hustled onto the boat to change into something warm. Before heading to the Grand Hall, he stopped off at the Infirmary to check on Fleur. She was awake now and smiling, taking his hand and squeezing tightly. 

“Thank you, Viktor,” she said drowsily. “Thank you.”

He nodded and squeezed her hand, telling her to get some rest before smiling at Gabrielle who was half asleep curled up to Fleur. He was sure that the warm feeling in his chest wasn’t going to last long, but he clung to it as he walked back to the Great Hall to eat with Durmstrang students. When he entered, they began singing the school victory song loud and obnoxious. Mihkail grinned leading the singing at him as he took a seat. 

“Must you sing?” Viktor asked, laughing at their antics.

“We must!”

*

Once dinner was over, he found himself wandering his way towards that out of the way classroom, hoping to find her there. He knocked once and the door opened for him. Hermione was lounging on the couch reading from a book on wizarding etiquette. He closed the door behind him and casted a ward and eavesdropping spell on the door as well as a reveal spell on the room. It seemed that Rita Skeeter had not scuttled her way in here as he’d entered. He walked towards her as she looked up and smiled. 

“Hello, Viktor.”

His jaw trembled as she closed the book, slipping a bookmark on her page and sat up. He held out a hand to stop her and she reclined back on the couch, observing him. His breath stuttered and he stared at his boots, sure that if he met her gaze that he’d melt and he’d never get the words out.

“I--I don’t want to be weak,” he said. “I’m not weak, even though I’m-- I’m a--” He swallowed the word and trudged on. “I can not be. Can not tell anyone ever. Would be great problem for--”

The entire wizarding world he was sure, especially his parents. It was nearly inevitable that one day his dynamic would be revealed and maybe one day he’d be able to say it, but it wasn’t going to happen now. Not with his insides warring like this. Not with his knees shaking like this. Not with his eyes burning with these tears of shame.

_ You are a Krum. Krums are not weak. _

How was it that those words still hurt so much?

“I am sorry,” he said finally. “I did not-- avoided-- wanted to--”

She held out a hand, silencing him. He observed it and the way she held it out towards him as if to shake his hand, but that wasn’t it. He knew it. He could practically feel her hand on his cheek. He wanted it there in his hair. Before he realized it, he bent at the waist to place his jaw in her hand. He sighed at the warmth of her hand and followed it until his knees landed on the magically cushioned ground beside the couch she lay across. He trembled, his cheeks heating. 

He’d only ever kneeled  once out of curiosity towards a cousin he’d seen doing it. The rush and settling had been indescribable, as had the pain been when his father found him and was only partially convinced that Viktor was looking for something beneath his bed.

_ I have told you a million times to be more careful with your things! _

“Ask me, Viktor,” she said. “Ask for it.”

He swallowed, his jaw tightened against another memory. The first to ask for mercy would get it worst. Viktor had excelled at never asking for mercy from that man called his father. 

_ Ask for it and you will regret it. Beg for it and prove yourself weak.  _

He drew back and she stilled him with the hand on his jaw. 

“Not beg,” she whispered. “Ask.”

Viktor’s jaw shook. His mouth opened and closed again, the words halted in his mouth. he had long since stopped asking for things he wanted or needed even.

_ A Krum wants for nothing.  _

“Da?”

_ A Krum needs nothing-- _

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut. That was a lie. He’d needed love. He’d wanted it so badly. He needed mercy and care and warmth. He needed  _ help. _

He needed this.

He needed someone to help him. 

“P-Please.” Viktor breathed.

Hermione pulled him closer, leaning over the edge of the couch as he fumbled with the words. 

_ A Krum asks for nothing. A Krum wants for nothing. A Krum needs nothing from anyone! _

His stomach churned and he sucked in a breath and formed the words that seemed the least dangerous. She’d give him this. She’d give him just this and that was all he’d ask for. That’s all.

“Please kiss me.”

The voice of his father screeched and he flinched from the sound. Another voice, smaller but loud screamed that it wouldn’t be enough, that he wanted more. He needed more. They yelled back and forth, his body shook.

“Good boy,” her voice cut through the screaming. 

Her hand slid into his hair and clenched, tilting his head back. He whimpered, but allowed her to control the kiss. A hand wrapped around his neck, her thumb stroking at his pulse as she kissed him, sliding her tongue into his mouth and taking over him.

He panted, his body going lax and his breath quickening.

_ More, _ that small voice pleaded.  _ Want more. Gods, please. _

He whimpered and looked up at “Go on. What else do you want?”

“More,” he gasped. “I-I want more.”

“Ask me, sweet,” she said, sitting up to frame his shoulders with her knees, the fabric of her skirt falling slack between them.

“Please. Please kiss me again?”

She granted a brushing of her lips against his as he shuddered and moved forward, panting for more. She held him still with a hand in his hair.

“What else Viktor? Ask me and I'll give it to you. You've been such a good boy.”

He nodded quickly, panting and pulling at the grips he had on his hair, “N-ne. Haven't-- can't-- weak--  _ please. _ ”

*

Hermione pulled back to look at him, cupping his jaw with a hand still firmly in his hair to meet his eyes, deeper than any sorrow, any pain it seemed and tinged dark with both. It reminded her of Harry’s eyes staring up at her as his life bled out of him and he was so very afraid, so very hurt as Dumbledore said nothing to defend himself against Hermione’s interrogation.

No submissive should ever look like that.

“You've been very good. You were so strong. You rescued me, Fleur, and Gabrielle. Doesn't that sound like something a good boy would do?”

Viktor’s jaw trembled.

“You asked me to kiss you. You were so obedient, Viktor. You've been such a good boy.”

“Should not be this, but can not ch-change,” he sobbed, pulling at her hold. She tightened her grip and bit his lip gently. His voice faltered and broke into a moan. His cheeks flushed and he closed his eyes.

Hermione swallowed, “And no one should ask you to go against your nature.”

His eyes opened and their gazes met.

“Being comfortable submitting to someone doesn't make you weak, wanting approval and love doesn't make you weak, Viktor. You've always done what was right. You've always been polite even in the face of those who aren't polite to you. You're strong.”

“Am not  _ dominant _ .”

“Being dominant doesn't make you strong,” she said. “Voldemort was a dominant, Lucius, Bellatrix, Dumbledore and so many others. They're all dominants and they are the weakest, most spineless people you'd ever meet. The weakest are cruel, the weakest deceive and manipulate and use people, the weak are easily fooled by their own egos.”

Viktor stared at her as she smiled and loosened her grip on his hair. She scratched his scalp gently and watched his eyes get hazy.

“You are kind. You are honest. And you are so very humble despite all of your accomplishments. You're not weak Viktor.”

Viktor said nothing. 

“Can you say that for me?” Hermione asked. 

“I...”

Hermione smirked and pressed a brief kiss to his lips, scratching his scalp. 

“Say  _ I’m not weak, _ Viktor.”

He shuddered, “I-I’m not weak.”

“Good,” she kissed his cheek. “Again.”

“I’m not weak,” he panted as she tightened her grip in his hair. “I’m not weak.”

“Say  _ I’m strong. _ ”

“I’m--” his voice broke and he drew back, “But I--”

“Viktor,” she breathed across his forehead. “Say it.”

“I can’t.”

“I think you can,” Hermione told him and pulled back  to cup his jaw with her other hand and press a kiss to his nose. “And I think that one day you’ll believe it too.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed, “Y-you think I’m strong?”

“I know you are,” Hermione told him. “I’ve seen it.”

His lips twitched into the smallest smile, but it was enough for her. 

“I won’t push you anymore tonight,” she said and glanced at the clock. “We have about an hour before your curfew.”

“I-- may I stay here?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful. “Please?”

Hermione didn’t push him to clarify what he meant. Instead, she kissed him once more and grabbed her book off the table. He sighed softly, leaning against her legs and laying his head on her knees. She stroked his hair absently, threading magic into her fingers as he kneeled.

As before, she escorted him to the ship and Mihkail’s care with a kiss and a wish goodnight. Hermione grinned the entire way back to Gryffindor tower that night, feeling that perhaps she wouldn't be a completely lost case when it came to dynamic relations as she thought.


	15. Not Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can’t have it, he told himself, shoving the thoughts away. You can’t have it.

Was she always so serene or was it that in comparison to the way his insides were running around she just seemed that way? He didn’t know and as she smiled and held a hand out to him, he found that he really didn’t care. He wanted just a piece of that serenity and she was willing to give it to him.

“You can sit next to me or kneel if you want.”

He took a seat beside her, even as his stomach churned and he eyed the space on the floor covetously. He could practically feel the warmth of her hand his hair, the firmness of the floor and the quiet that would come. Hermione reached up. He flinched and she held still. It was just an invitation, an offer for contact that he didn’t have to take. 

_ God _ , he thought. It was a choice. The thought alone made him shudder. 

He knew what her hands felt like on his face, warm and gentle.  He could almost feel it, warmth radiating from her palm, barely grazing the hurting places in his mind, but he wasn’t weak.

He was a Krum.

Krums weren’t--

They weren’t submissive.

But he was and it was the most confusing and damning fact of his life. He’d requested to be tested again this year and just as the year before it was the same: submissive. His parents didn’t know but his grandmother, Mihkail, and his team did. And now, Hermione knew through her own observations. Was he that obvious?

No one else knew.

No one else could know.

It could ruin his career. 

It could--

“It’s okay,” Hermione said. “You can say no. It won’t make you weak, Viktor. Nothing, could make you weak.”

His jaw trembled, “D-Da.”

But he didn’t move and held her gaze. Whatever she saw in him, he couldn’t hide from it or run. His face heated and all he could do was shake. 

_ See me, _ he thought.  _ See me and want me just as I am. _

Just as he refused to admit he was too.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Whatever you need, Viktor.”

He shuddered, his eyes rolling, fluttering in pleasure at those words. His spine melted so he tipped forward and placed his jaw in her hand. 

“That’s it,” she said softly, “Good boy.”

He whimpered. It was a broken sound that took all of his resistance with it as it escaped him. Cold, shaking and desperate for touch, Viktor slumped forward to lean against her. Hermione summoned her cloak from the hook across the room to wrap him in and lean him down until his head was in her lap, breathing shallowly as she stroked his hair. 

“Good,” she said gently. “It’s okay, just breathe, Viktor.”

Another broken sob escaped him as he curled his hand around her knee and snuggled closer. Maybe one day he’d manage to crawl right into her lap. It would be ridiculous since he was so much larger than her, but he bet she wouldn’t hesitate to hold him. 

“ _ You’re so tense, dear _ ,” she said softly. 

The few Bulgarian phrases that she’d managed to string together drifted over his senses, easing sweetly through his nervous system. His shoulders relaxed  as he closed his eyes letting her voice and Hermione’s words washed over him. Was this what he was supposed to feel like? This high weightless happy feeling? Why had he denied himself this for so long? How?

_ Because Krums aren’t weak,  _ he heard his father say.  _ To be a submissive is to be weak. _

He  _ hated _ the way those words felt as a child, cutting up something inside of him. He remembered the day he changed, trying to protect himself, pushing himself to be just like his brothers no matter how much it hurt on the inside. How he just wanted to curl up and die some days it hurt so badly, his body shaking, pleading for touch, for a kind word, for anything.

He remembered beginning to refuse them because he thought it would make him stronger when it truly made him more miserable. 

“Hermione,” he breathed. 

“Da, mila?” She replied earning another full body quake from him. 

“Could-- Could you--”

Hermione looked down at him, combing his hair back so she could see his face. He was so pale and not in the way that meant he needed more sun, but teetering on the edge of shock.

“Do what?” Hermione asked and watched his face flush. 

“H-Hit me… like b-before…”

Hermione flinched and her lips pressed together in a  firm line.,

“I won’t ever hit you, Viktor.”

Viktor could have cried, but only managed to whimper at how happy it made him to hear that from her lips. His stomach cramped with want from those words. His father would hit him and it wouldn’t-- it  _ couldn’t _ ever feel the way Hermione did when she’d pulled him over her lap. His jaw trembled and he fought for the words he wanted to say. 

_ Thank you. _

_ Please. _

_ Please make it just go away. _

The words wouldn’t come. Instead, his head dropped towards his chest and his jaw popped with the effort to say it. Why was he so stubborn? How had he managed to become so--

“I’ll spank you if that’s what you want.”

He snapped his head up at the words only to find that her warm brown eyes were steady, watching him. He saw something like understanding and an epiphany in her eyes. She’d figured out something else about him, something that he couldn’t manage to articulate for all the languages he knew. It felt good and horrifying to think that she may be able to read him so easily.

_ What do you see behind those eyes? _ He wondered, not for the first time.

“You seemed to enjoy it,” she said. “Would you like that?”

“P-Please,” he panted. 

Hermione smiled, “Okay.”

Viktor worried his lips but didn’t move, remembering from last time that it was best to let her take lead on the pace since he had no idea what was going on. The why, how, and  _ what ifs _ swirled in his head and he just needed…

Needed someone else to take it from him.

*

Hermione was impressed considering that he couldn’t ask for it. He remained still, waiting for her command. She hadn’t expected him to, but it did fill her with a purely  _ dominant _ sense of pleasure.

_ Hit him _ , she thought. 

The word had felt like sand and punishment in her mouth and she hated it.  She didn’t want to hit him. Hit implied a power that had not been freely given. Parents hit children, dominants hit other dominants and submissives to get their way. There was something uncontrolled and hurtful about  _ hitting _ anyone, to close to  _ beating _ in her mental vocabulary.

Spanking, however, was something different entirely. Spanking implied a purpose, a cause as its effect. It implied discipline, boundaries and limits. 

_Limits_ , she thought. They were the foundation of every moment between them. 

“Good boy, you can put yourself across my lap now.”

He whined, but moved nonetheless, draping himself across her lap, shaking with anticipation as she moved her cloak and then his as well, lifting his tunic so only his trousers and boxer briefs separated her hand from his ass. She rubbed in wide circles, kneading the flesh of his ass and the backs of his strong thighs.

“You don’t have to count, Viktor,” she said. “Just remember that I’m not going to stop until I’m satisfied unless you say your safeword.”

He shook his head silently. 

“Say your safeword for me.”

“Vratsa.”

“Good, do you understand that I will stop completely when you say it?”

“Da.”

“Do you trust me to stop when you say it?”

He swallowed, “D-Da.”

She smiled at that and threaded a hand through his hair, getting a good grip. 

“Good boy,” she said, squeezing and kneading the flesh of his ass gently. “Just relax for me, I’ll give it to you. Whatever you need. I promise.”

Viktor closed his eyes as she tugged at his hair a sharp pleasurable feeling shooting through his body at the insistent pull of her hand. 

He cried out at the first blow, startling, his hips twitching, but he didn’t dare move more than what was involuntary. 

He tried to count, but beyond the stinging pain in his arse and the way she gripped his hair, he couldn’t think. 

It felt… 

It felt so  _ good,  _ almost too good. He felt something familiar and unfamiliar pooling in his stomach, a liquid heat that seemed to have no end, no levies to hold it back as he screamed and she spanked him hard and consistent. He’d be bruised tomorrow, his ass and the back of his thighs too, but it felt good. 

“H-Hermione,” he panted, each jostle rubbing his cock against the front of his trouser, a mindlessly gentle friction that was only drawing him closer to the edge. “I--”

“It’s okay, Viktor,” she said gently. Her voice grown sultry as she spanked him harder. 

Viktor felt himself thrashing, held only remotely still by Hermione’s hand in his hair, there wasn’t any escape from her blows though, no hope to wiggle away even if he wanted to. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t control his body and he felt the liquid heat, break loose and sweep over and through him as Hermione landed her last blow on his ass. 

“Good boy,” she said. “It’s okay. I have you. You’re safe.”

She rubbed over his bruising back side and kept a firm grip in his hair as he came down from wherever he’d gone. It had been a place of absolute silence and wide open white spaces. Slowly, the world came back to him. The sound of breathing, fire, the feel of his clothing now damp and sticky. She pulled the cloaks over him again and continued to stroke his hair.

Good, he thought. It felt  _ good. _

Hermione listened to his breathing slow to an almost meditative pace. His  body felt relaxed over her legs. His face was flushed red, tears streaming from his eyes, but he looked so happy, with his eyes glazed over with pleasure. She smiled, watching him for a while before conjuring up a pitcher of water and a glass for him to drink from. He was so pliant that he didn’t argue with her about her tipping the glass into his mouth, cleaning him up, righting his uniform and wrapping him back up in his cloak. They sit quietly until the clock chimed that Viktor’s curfew is nearing. 

“How do you feel?” Hermione asked quietly. 

His jaw trembled and his fist tightened in her robes, “Is… okay.”

Hermione tilted his head up to meet her eyes. 

“Tell me the truth or you’re going to be late for curfew.”

He flinched, “Was g-good… s-scary.”

Hermione, cupped his cheek and kissed his nose, “Too much?”

“No,” Viktor whimpered. “I…”

_ Just say it, you’ve already let her-- _

“It’s nothing.”

Hermione slid a hand up the back of his neck and pressed at the muscles there until his head lolled forward.

“May I kiss  you?” She asked gently. 

He shook his head furiously and keened as she pressed her lips to his. His mouth fell open desperately, whimpering for her to take more. She grasped his neck tightly, holding him still as she kissed him to her satisfaction. When his lips were kiss-bruised red and swollen, his dark eyes dazed, and he could do nothing more than take what she gave him, she pulled back.  He looked at her so lost and desperate, his eyes staring at her as if he would do anything she wanted if she just kissed him again. 

It was a heady feeling to say the least.

“Next time,” Hermione said. “I won’t until you ask.”

Viktor swallowed thickly, but let her get him onto his feet and escort him back to the ship. She waited until he shuffled inside and this time he didn’t look back, didn’t stop, didn’t even try to speak to anyone on his way towards the room he shared with Mihkail. 

He was  _ freezing _ it felt like. The unequivocal high he’d been given over Hermione’s lap had fizzled out too soon. He crawled into bed, a little dizzy, disoriented and--

_ I’m not weak, _ he hissed as his leg cramped and he curled up. He would, however, be sore in the morning from Hermione’s hand. 

He shuddered, just a spike of heat through him at the memory. She had been--

_ Wonderful _ , something breathed in him. Firm and gentle-- demanding just a little more than he thought he wanted to give and just before what he knew he didn’t want to give, putting him in this limbo space that made a mess of his head. 

That kiss had felt like everything he’d ever wanted as a child. 

He--

He needed more of it, but that had never moved him to do much of anything. He’d needed love as a child and touch and he’d shied away from it because he’d wanted his father’s approval.

He wanted more of it, wanted more, so much more--

_ You can’t have it, _ he told himself, shoving the thoughts away.  _ You can’t have it. _

Mihkail came into their room to hear Viktor’s panicked breathing. He dropped his bag by the door and went to him quickly, tugging him against him to try and get him breathing normally again. 

“What happened? Viktor?  _ Viktor? _ ”

He let out a choked sound, just short of a sob and bit his lip hard enough to bleed, swallowing it down rather than cry like he wanted to, like he needed to. It made Mihkail just want to punch Viktor’s father until the man couldn’t even be recognized. 


	16. Aspirations

The stadium was silent for a few sweet, victorious moments as he spun around and looked at the faces staring down at him in shock. The weight of the trophy in his hand was the only thing grounding him to the spot he barely stood as he looked around at the faces and then down to the faces standing nearest to him. 

He recognized Dumbledore first, eyes wide and a little upset, then the Madame over Beauxbaton,  then Igor. His eyes drifted through the sea of red who still stared at him in complete silence although time had apparently slowed to a stop until he found her face. 

She was smiling at him. Her eyes were bright with pride and warm looking at him. He lifted the trophy up with shaking arms before whatever was making time stop dragged him to the ground with the trophy still in hand. Feet scrambled near him. Igor’s boots came closer along with the softer skirts of Madame Pomfrey. There were hands on his neck, his back and arms. 

Someone said something about bleeding. 

Someone else said something about shock.

What had happened to him? He couldn’t remember really. Just that he’d been running, running so hard from something. 

It bit him? Stung him maybe, but he’d been moving, so fast, so fast. 

There was an entry in a book that came to mind as soon as the pain registered.

_ Run, run, run as fast as you can _

_ For half past ten _

_ If you stop, you’ll be dead. _

What was a creature like that doing in Scotland?

It didn’t matter. He’d run and run and run through every twist and turn of the maze, under obstacles. 

_ Half past ten, _ he thought. Ten and a half minutes? Ten and a half seconds? Ten and a half hours? He didn’t know, but he’d run and run and now…

Now what? 

_ The trophy, _ he thought, clenching his hand as he was lifted off the ground. He opened his eyes to the light of someone’s wand in his face. 

He still had the trophy.

He’d won. 

He’d done exactly what he said he would do. 

Exactly what millions of people thought he, a Sub, couldn’t do just like Quidditch, just like a Cup. 

If he lived, he wondered what else he would do. 

_ Hermione, _ he thought. What did she think about it all? What would she think of a sub who had done such great things? Would she be proud? Would she want him to stop and just be a normal Sub? Why was he thinking of her at all? They weren’t bonded. They weren’t even courting properly he was sure.

Whatever the reason, it was important to him. 

“ _ He’s burning up.” _

_ “His heart’s speeding up.” _

_ “What kind of venom?” _

“ _ Dear Merlin, what is that? _ ”

He couldn’t die. He had to ask her something. Had to ask her a lot of things really. His baba would be upset with him if he died in the Tournament and what good was fame if he wasn’t alive to enjoy it?

“ _ It’s blue. Why is his sweat blue? _ ”

“ _ Fever dropping. _ ”

He had to get up. Had to see her. 

Had to make sure that it was all real, and he wasn’t just dreaming that moment standing in the colosseum with all those people around him. 

“ _ He must have run just long enough before reaching the center of the maze… _ ”

“ _ Good heavens, _ ” someone sighed, “Mr. Krum?”

He groaned, blinking through the darkness and pulling himself out. His vision cleared slowly and he blinked furiously up at the old woman, Madame Pomfrey, leaning over him. 

“Mr. Krum? Can you hear me?”

“Da,” he winced and tried to turn as Igor grinned at him all terrible teeth and bragging. 

“You are alive, Viktor! Your parents would be proud of you! Triwizard Champion!”

He groaned again and squeezed the solid thing in his hand before lifting his head to look at it. There it was glowing that illustrious blue in his hand. 

He felt his lips twitched and everything went black.

*

“Well, Miss Granger, I can say that your time at Hogwarts has been quite  an experience,” McGonagall said as Hermione sat down, “It’s a shame that you’ll be leaving so soon, but given the circumstances, there was no other option.”

Hermione chuckled, “No I suppose not.”

McGonagall set a stack of documents in front of her as well as a satchel of coins, “As set forth by the British Ministry of magic, this is the remainder of the money that was supposed to be paid for your schooling. The paperwork is with regards to potential jobs and proof of graduation.”

Hermione took the pages and flipped through them to make sure they were all there before sighing. 

“You never said what you planned to do, Miss Granger,” Mcgongall said, “Graduating early and your involvement with the IWA? Becoming an Aurora perhaps?”

Hermione laughed, “Never in a million years.” 

She hummed. She had given it quite a bit of thought given her involvement with the end of the war and her relationship with Harry. She was in a position, with the correct disposition, to affect some major changes int he wizarding community at large. 

“Something like politics, I think,” she said. McGonagall’s eyes widened.

“Politics dear?”

“Not Prime Minister of Britain,” Hermione hummed, “Something a lot more effective and wider reaching than that.”

McGonagall tilted her head, “I never imagined that you would remain in Britain after all that has occurred, dear child, but I am curious.”

“I’d like to force some real change in the wizarding world and not the type that most of the wizarding world will be happy about.”

McGonagall nodded, “Well, then you should be headed to the IWA then shouldn’t you?”

“Helps that I’m already there, doesn’t it?”

McGonagall chuckled at that, “Yes, I suppose it does. Well dear, know that you always have me in your court, and I am sure that Professor Snape as well.”

She grinned at that, “That’s good to know. A poor muggle-born like me will probably need it.”

Minerva’s eyes softened, “I don’t think that’s true at all, dear, but you have it anyway.”

She shook McGonagall’s hand and took her papers with her. The graduating ceremony would be starting in just a few hours and she was sure that McGonagall had quite a few more students to meet with and preparations to make. Thus, she headed back to her room to finish packing. With a few flicks of her wand, her things were packed and she started to get changed for the ceremony. There wasn’t much to it, just a different robe over her dress robes. She decided on new earrings and shoes as well. She looked at her hair and hummed. 

There was something to be said for its volume, but she couldn’t find it in her to change its overall appearance. After all, she was graduating at the top of the class in terms of grades but excluded from the valedictorian spot because she wasn’t actually a part of the class. It hardly mattered to her, but she knew it was Dumbledore’s last rib against her. 

She chuckled at the thought of the satchel of galleons in her trunk. How much had it burned him to have to return it to her? 

_ Serves him right, _ she nodded at her self in the mirror and fluffed her hair. 

As she turned the brilliant red of the rose-shaped clip Viktor had made for her caught her eye, and she smiled. 

Viktor wouldn’t be there, but she would feel better wearing it. She grabbed it and fashioned it into a clip to hold all of her hair to one side. With that done, she grabbed her hat and left the room.

To her surprise, the ceremony went off without a hitch. Neither the Beauxbaton nor Durmstrang students were in attendance, but she knew it was because they would be hosting their own graduations when they arrived back at their respective schools. When the ceremony was over, Harry rushed to her and hugged her close. 

“Congratulations, Hermione!”

She squeezed him back, “Thanks, Harry.”

“So what do you plan on doing with the rest of your time as a wizarding minor?” 

Hermione laughed at the question and Harry simply grinned at her. 

“Dunno,” she shrugged, “Work until I’m a wizarding  _ major _ I suppose. Someone will hire me as an apprentice for now.”

“The IWA?” Harry asked.

She hummed, “Probably. You? Are you going to be alright with just Ron around?”

Harry hummed; he hadn’t really considered it. With the Triwizard Tournament over there were a lot of questions that needed to be answered, but for now, he’d focus on the post-Tournament festivities, final exams and Oliver’s insane training schedule for the summer. 

They walked to the infirmary where Viktor was still recovering only to find Mihkail and few of his other friends there with him laughing. The Triwizard tournament cup sat at his bedside and Viktor glowered. 

Hermione and Harry joined them at his bedside. It’s his eyes that skin the red and gold of the clip before jumping to meet her own that make her smile. 

“Hello champ,” she said and took a seat, “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he said, “Not dying.”

Mihkail shook his head, “I doubt you would have ever let go of the trophy if you had.”

His friends laughed and Viktor flushed.

“Congratulations, Viktor,” Harry said with a slight flush to his cheeks, “Although, I kind of feel like a traitor for being happy about it…”

Mihkail smirked, “Is that so? He is Viktor Krum.”

Harry ducked his head and Hermione swatted Mihkail. 

“Stop teasing Harry.”

He grinned at her, but they both knew that Viktor’s prowess on a Quidditch pitch wasn’t the only reason Harry had been just as excited as she was when Viktor appeared in the colosseum and just as frightened when he’d collapsed. Viktor was Mihkail’s best friend and he’d never known Cedric that well. 

Mihkail told them that they were officially putting the Triwizard festivities on hold until Viktor was given a clean bill of health. That would give the ministry and the Hogwarts staff enough time to gather all of the challenges from the maze and get them returned to wherever they should be. 

It takes three days for Madam Pomfrey to release him but Hermione is sure that Viktor should have taken another day from the way he fell prey to dizzy spells every so often. Mihkail was always at his side if not Hermione or some of his other friends. 

The Triwizard dance is a great deal like the Yule Ball except there was no procession and a lot more music that didn’t involve a three-count. The Minister of Magic presented Viktor with his prize and they took the photo for the Triwizard hall of fame. Viktor lifted the bag of galleons high in the air, but his eyes found Hermione in the sea of people who only clapped and cheered as loud as Durmstrang. 

If she surprised him by knowing his school’s fight song, then at least she knew why he blushed so red. When the ceremony was over, he managed one dance with her before retiring for the evening with the help of Mihkail and a few other friends from Durmstrang. Harry, Hermione, and Cormac stumble back to Gryffindor tower together at the end. 

“It’s been a year, hasn’t it?” Cormac asked as Harry fell asleep on his shoulder.

“It has,” Hermione agreed, “Did you get accepted into your program?”

Cormac nodded, “I… haven’t told my parents though.”

Hermione nodded, “Well, I guess we’ll see each other sooner rather than later, Cormac.”

Cormac nodded, “Probably.”

 

A week and a half later, it was time to say goodbye to the visiting schools and to Hogwarts for everyone. The end of the year exams were finally complete and all the remaining graduates were expected to be leaving with the rest of the students. The docks are filled with people saying their goodbyes and promising to write to one another. From his place sitting in an archway, Harry could see Hermione bidding Durmstrang students goodbye. She stood with Viktor, smiling up at him. 

Viktor seemed flustered but proud and it’s a secret smile they share leaning close. He bet there was some sort of kiss exchanged as well as an address. 

A melancholic feeling pulsed in his chest as he searched the crowd looking for Mihkail, but couldn’t locate him.

“You’re not going to say goodbye?”

He turned around and grinned at Mihkail. He stood up and shuffled his feet shyly. 

“Of course, I just… don’t do crowds well.”

He smirked, “So you expected me to come to find you.”

“I… hoped,” Harry said taking tentative steps towards him. He pulled the piece of parchment that he’d hoped to have a chance to give to Mihkail. The one for Cormac was still in his pocket.

Mihkail wasn’t hesitant at all. He walked towards Harry until there was barely an inch between them. He tilted Harry’s face up to meet his gaze.

“There you are,” he smiled, “I will miss you, Harry.”

“I’ll miss you too, I-- I wanted to give you this,” Harry offered up the piece of paper to him,  “I thought we could write one another?”

Mihkail took it from his hand and replaced it with a piece of parchment. 

“I would like that very much,” he said, “Perhaps one day you’ll come to visit.”

Harry’s eyes widened, “Me? Visit you in Wallachia?”

“Yes,” he said. “The invitation is yours to take whenever you’d like so long as your guardian isn’t against  it.”

“Oh no, that’s not it at all,” Harry said. If anything Sirius would be  _ thrilled _ that Harry had someone other than Hermione to go visit and he already knew about Mihkail. “If anything, he’d happily ship me off for the hope of me having a social life… I just thought it would be a little more difficult since you live in a dragon sanctuary…?”

Mihkail chuckled, “It isn’t difficult at all.”

Mihkail cupped his jaw and pressed a kiss to between his eyebrows.

“I’ll look forward to your letters, sweet.”

Harry worried his lips, and in a moment of bravery, he tilted his head up to press his lips against Mihkail’s. He drew back soon after, having stolen the kiss he wanted and prepared to escape. Mihkail growled and crowded him back against the stone wall to cup his face in his hands. 

“That’s not enough,” Mihkail said. Harry wasn’t sure what that meant, but he hadn’t expected Mihkail to hold him still and maraud his mouth. It made him squirm, his stomach flutter and Harry cling to him. He had no idea what he was doing, but the steady press and slide of Mihkail’s tongue against his own were enough of a lead to follow.

When Mihkail released him. Harry leaned forward to chase after his mouth earning a dark chuckle from Mihkail. His cheeks heated and he drew back. Mihkail pressed a firm kiss to his lips and between his eyebrows again. 

“There is no need to be ashamed. Did you like it?”

Harry nodded and Mihkail hummed.

“Good,” he said. 

The bell of the Durmstrang boat rang, and Mihkail sighed, “It is a shame how little time we’ve had. Let this not be the last time I see you?”

Harry nodded, “You as well. Erm, write to me?”

“Of course,” he said and pressed a kiss to his hand, “Goodbye Harry until we see each other again.”

Harry waved him goodbye and remained standing with Hermione until the ship disappeared in the distance. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“So, do you plan on visiting Wallachia?”

Harry worried his lip, “Yes.”

Hermione squeezed him, “Come on, let’s get going. Sirius is supposed to meet us at the station.”

He nodded and walked with her back to the castle to gather their things and head to the carriages that would take them to the train station. Ron rode in the carriage with them, though he seemed more put out than usual. Harry thought that it would remain just them in the car until Cormac and Luna found them. 

They took seats and instantly it seemed that whatever lingering tension had left the car altogether. Luna was interning at her father’s magazine for the summer, and Cormac would be starting his apprenticeship in Egypt. 

Harry managed to bolster the courage to give Cormac his address and was pleasantly surprised when Cormac gave him the address to where he would be staying in Egypt. 

“I won’t be there for a month or so, but I figure you’ll be too busy sleeping to notice,” Cormac said with a wink.

When they arrived at the station, Cormac helped Harry with his cart until he spotted his family. 

“I’ll write to you,” Cormac said before dashing towards them, and Harry worried his lip looking up at Hermione. 

“The McLaggens are a very… political bunch,” Hermione explained and squeezed him close, “Cormac doesn’t want you to have to deal with that.”

He nodded and glanced back at the group. In his time with the Dursleys, reading body language became one of the most vital survival skills that he had. Cormac didn’t look comfortable, he looked about ready to bolt actually, but he was intentionally directing their attention in the opposite direction of Harry. 

He never imagined that Cormac’s relationship with his family was so tense. 

“Harry!”

He turned to see Sirius and Remus. The two of them were smartly dressed as if they’d just come from a meeting with the IWA. Before he’d realized it, Harry found himself plastered to Sirius and squeezing tightly. The familiar scent of him, the familiar feel of him unknotted ever knot of tension until he was practically melted against Sirius. 

“I’m so glad to see you,” Harry said. 

“Me too,” Sirius whispered into his hair and squeezed, “Will you be joining us, Miss Granger?”

“Have I worn out my welcome?” She asked.

“Not at all,” Sirius said and drew back, “Let’s get going before someone recognizes us.”

If he followed Sirius and Remus’s near breakneck speed to the nearest Floo Station, then he couldn’t be blamed.

“Is that Harry Potter?!”

Green flame erupted around them as Sirius let out a sigh of relief. They walked out into the main foyer of the Potter house in France and each of them collapsed on the couch. Hermione and Harry’s things were left beside the fireplace. 

“Told you.”

Harry and Hermione laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, thanks for coming back to read my shenanigans. I know it's been forever, but 2018 has literally been the hardest year it could have possibly been. I don't even think there's much that could top it except maybe... 
> 
> Nah. I got nothing.
> 
> I will try to have this finished before the end of the year, but I can't make any promises since I haven't even scratched the surface of dealing with my own issues. Thanks for all the support, patience, and so on. Your comments and things were the highlights of a lot of dark days these past few months. Things will get better, and I say that not just for myself but for everyone who is going through a tough time.
> 
> Things will get better.
> 
> Best,
> 
> BLV13


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